


the way back

by harlequin87



Category: Rugby Union RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Suicide, Found Family, Gen, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 01:15:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 46,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20770094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harlequin87/pseuds/harlequin87
Summary: George attempts suicide. This is his way back.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please be aware of the tags and proceed with due caution. (If there's anything that needs to be tagged in more detail, please let me know.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per the notes above: this is not a happy story. Be careful and look after yourself.

A few small, white pills lined up along the table, a glass of water standing watch nearby to ease the passing. George stared at them – the supposed instruments of his salvation. He tried to scrounge up any lingering hint of emotion: the kind of last-minute panic and fear he’d read about in his repeated investigations into a real, lasting solution for his problems. But all he felt was a blank numbness, like so many days in the last month and year – years, even.

He unlocked his phone and carefully copied and pasted what would be his final message to Ben into a text. It was a simple passage, merely asking Ben to look in on Bailee for the next few days before Jess got back from Manchester and claimed what she had decided was rightfully hers. He’d spent a few days composing the message: it wasn’t like he had anything better to do outside of the gym.

Having arranged the text and positioned the phone neatly perpendicular to the glass, George slouched down on to the chair and readied himself. This could be it. An end to the boredom and the pain and the omnipresent fear of failure – forever. A final goodbye to the few things he cared about and to the many things he could barely pretend to like anymore.

He picked up a pill, set it down again. Then, in a flurry of movement, he seized every last one of the tiny white capsules and brought them to his lips. With what was almost a sigh of relief, he tipped his head back and swallowed.

That was it, then. A disappointing end to the frankly disappointing life of one George Thomas Ford. He stayed seated on the chair, waiting, gazing at the sparse surroundings of his kitchen.

An empty picture frame sat directly in front of him, which used to hold a photo of him and Jess on their last holiday together. Since the break-up, though, he couldn’t bring himself to look at it – their smiling, sunlit faces, as if a change of the weather could fix their inevitably doomed relationship – and had thrown the photo away.

The frame seemed to be mocking him in its emptiness. _This is what your life has come to_, it whispered. _Nobody left for you. Blank space._

As the pills began to form a haze at the edges of his vision, a tiny whine pierced through the fog. The whine came again, followed by a pleading bark. George stumbled to his feet and groaned as the world swayed around him. It was like the last five minutes of a Test match – pushing through the pain to reach the relief that lay the other side of the final whistle. “It’s okay, B, I’m coming,” he murmured. “I’ll let you out, don’t worry.”

He opened his bedroom door and allowed the dog out to bounce around his legs on the slow shuffle to the back door. After a few attempts, he managed to unlock the door and let Bailee charge out into the dark garden. Looking at the time on his phone – which had somehow appeared in his hand - George could see that it was hours past Bailee’s usual bedtime trip outside. Tears began to prick at the corners of his eyes and he slid to the ground. He couldn’t even do this one stupid simple thing right.

The cold night air and the wetness of Bailee’s tongue helped to stave off the growing heaviness. Somehow, the darkness of the garden seemed to be moving inside and surrounding him like an ominous mist. The little dog pawed hopefully at George’s chest and her tongue lolled out of her mouth.

He smiled blearily at her. “Hey, B,” he slurred, “don’ worry. Ben’s going to look after you now, yeah?” She tilted her head to the side and whined again. A bolt of fear shot through George’s heart. He’d never actually sent the text to Ben. His last companion could escape, run away ...

With Herculean effort he brought the phone to his eyes where he was able to read the letters dancing across the screen. He carefully added a second message and sent them both. Relieved, he sank down to the kitchen floor and gathered Bailee into his chest.

Then he closed his eyes.

***

Ben was lying in bed, having a very strange dream in which the All Blacks had abandoned their haka in favour of kicking him repeatedly in the back. It must have been one of those expansion matches in the USA, given the warmth of his surroundings, because England-New Zealand games were always played in winter for the home team. “Gerroff,” he grumbled, twisting away. Honestly – they won two World Cups and they thought they could get away with anything, up to and including minor assault of an opposing player.

“No, wake up,” Charlotte said firmly, shaking him again. “You’ve got some texts from George. I’m worried about him.” She held his phone out and he rolled over to take it, still half-asleep.  
He scanned the first message. “I don’t see what’s wrong with that. He just wants us to watch Bailee for a few days.”  
“No,” she said, more insistently now, “read the next one.” Ben scrolled down, unease growing at his wife’s tone.

23:53 _I’m sorry ben help I dint want leave B help me _

They exchanged a worried look. “I think you should go and check on him, at the very least.” Charlotte said. “It’s unusual behaviour and it can’t hurt to make sure he’s okay.”  
Ben nodded decisively and rolled out of bed. “If you stay here with the kids, I’ll drive over. It probably won’t take more than half an hour.” If either of them noticed how his hands were shaking, they didn’t mention it.  
She smiled, skin creasing around her eyes, and kissed his cheek. “Alright. I’ll see you soon, love.”

The scrum half was on the road and pulling into George’s drive within ten minutes – faster than usual, but justifiably so. His concern increased as he saw the lights blazing through all the windows. It was unusual for his friend to be so careless, particularly with his reputation for fastidious cleanliness. He fished out his key and let himself in. He didn’t know what he would find inside.

He heard Bailee yelp as he closed the door behind him. Ben walked towards the kitchen, squinting against the brightness of the lights, such a contrast to the darkness outside. A cold breeze seemed to be gusting through the house. The dog barked again, but didn’t come any closer.

Ben entered the kitchen and his eyes went straight to George, sprawled on the tiles with his dog standing protectively nearby. He dropped to his knees. “Oh God,” he murmured. “George, what have you done?” Bailee growled as he reached out a hand to touch the prone figure. He pressed his fingers to the yellow-grey skin of George’s wrist, desperately hoping to find a pulse. With the other hand, he called 999, breath speeding up with every hurried intake of air.

“Hello? Hi, yes, I need an ambulance. It’s my friend. He’s on the floor, and he’s barely breathing. I don’t know... He’s a professional athlete, so it can’t be that. Please, help me!” Ben sank to the floor beside his friend, trying to shelter him from the cold by cradling George’s upper body in his lap. He rattled off George’s address when the operator asked, staring at the younger man’s empty eyes. It wasn’t just the blankness that scared him – it was the complete lack of response as he peered into them.

There were no flickers of life. There was nothing.

No time seemed to have passed when the soft murmur down the phone ended and someone started banging on the door. “We’re paramedics, Mr Youngs, please let us in!” one of them shouted. Ben carefully laid George back on the tiles and rushed to the door, hands shaking. “Hi, thank you for coming-” he babbled, swiping at the tears rolling down his face.  
“Where is he?” the taller of the two asked.  
“Oh – the kitchen, follow me.”

Ben stood back and watched the paramedics work. George was swiftly wrapped in a blanket and placed on a stretcher, an oxygen mask obscuring his face. As they moved around the unconscious man, the paramedics probed Ben for any possible causes of his condition. “I really don’t know, I’m sorry. I’ve only been back in town for a few weeks, but his girlfriend might...” He trailed off. One of the paramedics was holding up a small white packet of pills. “You don’t think...?”

“We never rule anything out at this stage, sir. Our first priority is to get the casualty to hospital. Would you like to accompany your friend?” Ben nodded hesitantly, an uncomfortable feeling growing in his stomach. The paramedics clattered out of the room, the stretcher swaying between them. Ben could only stand, as if waiting for instructions. Bailee nipped at his leg and he jolted back into action. He quickly locked the back door, patted the dog on the head and hurried after the paramedics and his friend.

Sitting in the back of the ambulance as it blared its way to the hospital, he was struck once more by how small and grey George looked. One of his hands slipped from the stretcher and dangled in mid-air, swinging with the motion of the vehicle. The second paramedic – dark skin, kind eyes – pushed the hand back against the body and gave Ben a gentle smile. “We’re doing the best we can for him. What you need to do is look after yourself. Is there someone you can call to check in with?” Ben nodded and pulled out his phone. He was acting on autopilot; as devoid of feeling as George’s eyes had been just a few minutes before.

When he unlocked it, the screen still showed George’s texts from barely half an hour ago. He took a steadying breath and called Charlotte. “Hi, love, how’s it going?” she asked, bleary with sleep. “I thought you would be back by now.”  
Ben choked down a sob, suddenly overwhelmed by the events. “Yeah, uh – the thing is, I’m in an ambulance. I found him on the kitchen floor with Bailee, and, and... The paramedics think George might have overdosed.” He stuttered to a halt and closed his eyes.

His wife was silent for a moment. “Oh God, Georgie. The poor thing. I- I can’t... So you’re going to the hospital with him?”  
“Yeah. I don’t know what they’re going to do, but yeah.” He broke down in a fresh wave of tears. He was conscious of the paramedic watching him and he turned away, hunching his shoulders.

“Hey, hey, Ben. The doctors will know what to do, hmm? They’re going to help him keep fighting. Don’t you worry.”  
Ben felt an irrational stab of anger. “But what if he doesn’t want to fight? OD-ing doesn’t seem like the most can-do approach ever!” His outburst was stemmed by the ambulance pulling to a stop and the back doors being thrown open. He swallowed down his frustration. “We’re at the hospital now. I should go. I’ll talk to you later – I love you – bye!”

Ben shoved the phone into his pocket and followed the paramedics and their patient. They soon arrived at a door labelled ‘ICU’. The kind-eyed paramedic turned to him. “I’m really sorry, but you can’t come past this point. You can sit in the waiting room, and we’ll give you updates as soon as we can.”

With that, George was whisked through the double doors and Ben was left alone, swaying, like the rug had been pulled out from under his feet.

He stumbled to a chair and sank into it, finally processing what had just happened. George had tried to kill himself – no, they didn’t know that for sure. George had done something to himself that ended with him unconscious on the floor – no, not that either. Something had happened to George and now he was seriously ill, in the ICU, at 1am on a Thursday morning. It was all too much to take in.

He stared at his hands, illuminated by the harsh lights of the waiting room. The grey skin with veins throbbing underneath reminded him of George’s hand in the kitchen, in the ambulance, and vomit rose in his throat.

His phone buzzing against his hip stalled the speeding train of his thoughts. He took it out with shaking hands and opened the text. _I love you. _It read. _It will be okay. Char xxx _Then, a beat later: _Do you want me to ring someone? _Ben rubbed at his eyes. At last, something constructive to do. _It’s ok, I’ll do it – in the waiting room for a while now. I love you._

After a short period of deliberation, Ben settled on Joe Ford. He didn’t want to reach into Joe’s domestic bliss and somehow break the news that his little brother wanted to die and very nearly had. Joe and Connie were probably asleep, having had a nice night in with Kobe – maybe he’d done something particularly amusing and they’d put him to bed laughing, and then sat together, talking idly, on the couch until it was late enough to be asleep themselves.

Now he had to break that warm peace with the worst kind of news. His throat tightened at the thought. At the very least, they were in the city and could be there in under an hour, unlike the rest of the family.

He clicked on the little photo of Joe and Connie smiling, their arms around each other, and dread settled in his stomach. This was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do – and he’d played against the All Blacks, for God’s sake.

The phone rang, little chirps emanating into the still air. The waiting room was deathly quiet and Ben couldn’t face interrupting the silent vigils of the other people in there with him. He stood up and walked out into the corridor, knuckles white from pressing his phone to his ear.

“Hello?” Joe’s voice came questioningly into the air. “Ben? Why are you calling me? It’s the middle of the night.”  
Ben balled a fist against the wall and steeled himself. “Look, Joe – are you with Connie right now?”  
“Uh – she’s asleep in bed, why?”  
“Could you get her, please? I have some bad news and I don’t want you to be alone when you hear it.” Ben screwed his eyes shut as he heard the gentle sounds of Joe waking up his wife.

“Okay, Ben. We’re both here now. You’re on speaker.”  
“Right, yes. I’m really sorry that I’m the one that has to break it to you, but – George is in hospital.”  
“Oh, God, why? What’s happened?” Joe asked in a trembling voice, all animosity vanished in an instant.  
“He – he tried to commit suicide.”

The final word hung in the air. Ben heard Connie gasp. “Okay,” Joe choked out. “What happened? Where is he? Can we see him?”  
“We’re at the Infirmary – the ICU. He can’t have visitors yet, but you can come and wait with me for news. And – he texted me about Bailee, and I went over to check on him, and he was just lying there, on the floor...” Connie was crying softly in the background.  
“Jesus, right. Um, I think Con should stay with Kobe, but I can be there in half an hour. Have you – have you told our parents?”

Ben winced at his pleading tone. “No. I thought you should do it, seen as you’re his brother and all that.”  
There was some whispering and then Joe came back to the phone. “Connie doesn’t want to let me go by myself, so we’ll bring Kobe and get a taxi. I don’t want to call them without definite news, though. Do you know when that’ll be?”  
“I don’t, sorry. Should be in the next hour, I guess.”

“Right,” Joe said, new resolve in his voice. “We’ll get the baby up and come straight there. I’ll call Dad when we arrive.”  
“Okay,” Ben said, suddenly relieved that someone else was shouldering the burden. “I’ll see you then – I’ll meet you at the front desk?” Joe replied in the affirmative and ended the call.

Ben walked back to the waiting room, feet dragging and shoulders slumped. Logically he knew that he couldn’t feel George’s presence, but his mind was painting the most lurid pictures of George in a sterile hospital bed, hooked up to wires everywhere. George, deprived of all energy and life, grey on white. His friend lying in a bed, just a few metres away, and taking his final breaths. He imagined a nurse coming out of the double doors and saying, face grave, “Mr Youngs? I’m so sorry, but it was too late.”

He collapsed on to the nearest chair in the waiting room. Hunched over, hugging his knees, he cried. He cried for George, and how he must have been feeling to be driven to such an awful thing. He wept for Joe and Connie and Jacob, and their pain at hearing the news. And, most of all, his heart broke for Mike and Sally-Anne, who didn’t even know what their son had tried to do while they were blissfully, ignorantly, asleep.

He remained in that position for an age, until Joe and Connie rushed into the room and he startled to his feet. Connie, with tear-stained cheeks, was cradling a sleeping Kobe. Ben was struck by the contrast between the young life of the baby and the weary souls in the ICU and the waiting room.

Joe hurried over to Ben, Connie trailing behind, and pulled him into a tight hug. “I’m so grateful for you right now, Ben. If you hadn’t got that text...” Ben nodded and hugged him closer. “Have you had any updates yet?”  
“I assume it will be soon – we arrived about an hour ago.”

Joe sniffed. “Sure – I just need to work out what to tell my parents. Dad’s meant to be going to Germany in a few weeks for his new job, so I don’t even know if that’s going to happen now. Oh, God, George!” Tears overwhelmed him and he buried his head in Ben’s shoulder.  
“Hey, hey,” Ben said under his breath. “It’s okay. He’s in hospital now. The nurses are doing all they can to help. He’s got the best chance.” _To stay alive_, he didn’t say.

He guided Joe to a seat and gave Connie a small smile. “How’s the little one?” he asked, desperately trying to move to a happier subject.  
She blinked in confusion but took the change of topic in her stride. “Well, he’s been crawling everywhere the last couple of weeks...”

She chattered on gamely while Ben put an arm around Joe’s shoulders.  
“Come on, mate. We’ve all got to stay strong for each other, yeah? So keep your head up. We need to be positive. And what’ll little Kobe think if he wakes up and sees everyone crying?”

Joe raised his head and looked at Ben through wet eyes. “I mean, technically he can’t think at all yet, so...” A laugh bubbled up in his throat. “I thought I was coping with this. Then we got here and I’m in pieces.”  
“And that’s completely understandable. Your brother nearly died. If you weren’t crying, I’d be worried.”

The sound of a door swinging closed interrupted him. Both he and Joe whipped their heads around to look. A tall woman was standing there, blank-faced, holding a clipboard. “Mr Youngs?” she called out. He raised a shaking hand. Goosebumps rose on his arms, like the temperature in the room had suddenly dropped by ten degrees.

As she walked towards them, Ben and Joe clutched at each other’s hands. Ben’s stomach was churning in fear, and Joe’s must have been the same.

The nurse sat down beside them. “I’m Grace, and I’m looking after Mr Ford at the moment. Just to check, you are?” Joe, white-faced, introduced himself and Connie, and her eyes filled with sympathy. “Good. We’re waiting for the results of a blood test to come back to determine the quantity of medication he took, and he’s on a ventilator just in case.” She glanced down at the clipboard. “We’ve decided to begin administering some activated charcoal as a preventative measure – it’ll stop more paracetamol going into his bloodstream.”

Ben stared at her. Joe’s eyes were fixed on the floor and he was squeezing his teammate’s hand like he was trying to break it. “You mean,” Ben said hoarsely, “he’s alive? He’s okay?”  
The nurse smiled gently at them. “Yes, he is alive. His organs will take some time to recover from the medication, but he’s alive.”

Ben burst into tears and grabbed blindly at Joe, who was doing the same. “Thank you so much,” he sobbed. “Oh my God, thank you.” It was a weight lifted off his shoulders: George was alive. He was damaged, but not beyond repair. His friend was alive. Joe and Jacob’s brother, Mike and Sally-Anne’s son – alive. Disturbed by the sudden noise, Kobe woke up and started wailing. Connie shushed him half-heartedly, but her tears were preventing her from stopping her son’s.

Grace leaned forward and touched Joe’s shoulder. “Mr Ford, would you be able to tell us anything about your brother’s mental state in the last few weeks? It would help us to plan his recovery and address the underlying problems.” When Joe started shaking his head, still weeping, she added hastily, “I don’t mean now, of course. Take some time to call your parents, eat something. But when you’re ready – or you, Mr Youngs, if you’ve noticed any unusual behaviour – you can ask at the front desk and I will take you somewhere quiet to talk.” They both nodded. “Alright. We’ll keep you updated.” She stood up to leave.

“He’s alive,” Joe repeated. “George is alive. Thank God.” He leaned over and kissed his wife and son. “Oh my God. George. My little brother’s alive.” Ben slumped in his chair and covered his face with his hands. The rollercoaster of emotion was too much to handle. Within the space of a few hours, everything had gone from being fine to the worst situation possible, then a violent swing back to relief.

While his friend was alive, they didn’t yet know what the long-term outcome would be of the attempt. The nurse had mentioned George’s organs... Ben could only hope that he’d found him soon enough that there wouldn’t be any long-term consequences.

He caught himself. George was alive, and that was good enough for now. His mind returned to the nurse’s comments. They wanted to find out any underlying causes of George’s suic- decision. He gritted his teeth. It wasn’t like George had been acting unusually or in an extreme way. His personal life seemed fine, he was producing for Tigers and for England: Ben couldn’t see any logical reason for it.

They were friends. If George had been struggling that much, surely he would have told someone, even if it wasn’t Ben himself. The team had counsellors for a reason, and with less than a week to go until preseason started, it wasn’t like they were unavailable or on holiday.

After a few minutes of exchanging relieved sighs and smiles, the two rugby players began discussing their ideas for George’s attempt. “I mean, I know Jess broke up with him a few weeks ago – just after Faz’s wedding, actually – but I got the impression that they hadn’t got on well for a while before that,” Joe mused, cradling Kobe while Connie went to the vending machine. “I’d imagine it would be more of a relief than anything else for her to leave.”

Ben shrugged. “Yeah, but if he was happy about it, he might act more like it. You’ve been around him recently too – he doesn’t seem excessively happy, it’s just his normal behaviour. I reckon being dropped by England for that last match in South Africa might have knocked his confidence.”

“Yeah, but not that much,” Joe protested, frowning. “He’s had bad losses before – look at the World Cup, for God’s sake!” He squeezed Kobe to his chest, running his hand through his son’s hair, and rested his head against the wall. “I mean, I suppose it’s complicated, and we probably shouldn’t try to guess too much. They have doctors for that.” Ben nodded, considering, and they lapsed into silence again.

By four in the morning, any of the adrenaline caused by the discovery and arrival at the hospital had left Ben’s system and his eyelids were drooping with tiredness. Connie had already pushed two chairs together and propped her feet up, curling around her sleeping son. The waiting room was just as silent as the night before, with faint beeps and alarms emanating from within the ICU.

Gradually, the sun was angling in through the windows as it rose, making the lighting in the room softer, less harsh. Compared with earlier, Ben was almost calm, almost as if the knowledge of George steadily breathing nearby along with him had helped him relax. Joe seemed to be in a similar state of contentment, at odds with the surroundings and the events of the previous hours.

Minutes and hours trickled past until it was eight in the morning and the sun was shining directly onto their small group. Ben turned to Connie and Joe. “If you three want to go home to sleep or get some breakfast, that’s fine by me. Kobe looks like he needs it.”  
The Fords had a hushed conversation. “It’s nice of you to offer, Ben,” Joe said, “but I think I’d like to stay here for a few more hours, at least. Connie and Kobe will go home for a while just so the little one can nap, but he’s my brother and I don’t want to abandon him.”  
Ben shrugged. “That’s fine. I’ll just call Char to say I’ll be home for lunch, and I’ll leave around eleven, then.”

After Connie and Kobe had left the room, Joe moved closer to Ben. “Mate-” he locked eyes with Ben- “I know I said I’d call my parents once I had news. I just don’t know if I can right now, you know? It feels like too much responsibility.”  
“I can do it, if you want? Or you can, and I’ll be here for moral support?”  
Joe pursed his lips. “If you could just sit near me while I call, then I think that would help.”

Ben nodded and patted his arm, getting out his own phone while Joe rang his parents. Joe’s teeth were clicking together, in spite of the warm sunlight streaming in through the window onto the floor in front of them. Ben pushed their legs together so they were just touching. “Dad? Hi, yeah. Is Mum there?” There was a pause. “Okay. Everything’s fine, I guess, but George is in hospital.” His voice shook. “No, nothing like that. He – he tried to kill himself.” Tears were leaking out of Joe’s eyes and Ben squeezed his hand. “Yeah, he’s alive, but we don’t know much more. I – yes. That would be good. We’ll be here all day.”

Joe stopped and shook his head violently. He shoved the phone at Ben, eyes wide and panicked. “Ben, can you…? I can’t right now.”  
Taking the phone, Ben brought it to his ear cautiously. He could hear Sally-Anne crying in the background and his heart clenched. “Mike? It’s Ben.”  
There was a huff of air before the older man replied. “Hello, Ben.” His voice was weary and rough around the edges. “I really don’t know what to say. We’re going to drive over now, so we should be there in a few hours.”

There was a long silence, the unspoken hanging in the air between them. Ben took Joe by the hand again and sent him an encouraging smile. “Okay. Connie and Kobe have gone home for a bit, but Joe and I should be here when you arrive.”  
“Alright. We’ll see you soon.” The call clicked off and Ben handed the phone back to Joe. He wanted to say something reassuring, but the tragedy seemed to have dulled his mind and leached all comforting words.

The two men sat in silence together in the waiting room, hands gripping each other tightly. The few other people in the room seemed to be taking a similar approach to this purgatory: there was no sound or movement save for the beeping emanating from the closed ward doors, which occasionally reached a frenzied pitch and died away again. With every frantic crescendo, each person fixed their eyes on the door, as if they could will people back to life and consciousness.

Eventually, after another hour passed with no news, Ben got up to go home. Joe stood with him and hugged him tightly. “Thanks again, mate,” he murmured into Ben’s neck. “It means everything – to all of us.” Ben felt emotion rising in his chest and he buried his face in Joe’s shoulder as a response. “Mum texted to say they’ll be here in about an hour and a half. I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you be there when they arrive? I know it’s unfair, but I can’t face them alone.” Ben nodded wordlessly and stepped away.

It was only once he’d paced the carpark several times that he realised that there was no car waiting for him, and the full force of his panicked arrival at the hospital a few hours earlier hit him again. He considered calling his wife, but he somehow couldn’t bring himself to involve his own family in the Fords’ suffering. Yawning, he turned left out of the hospital and started the long walk home.

As the cars sped past, Ben stared at their drivers. They were so eager to rush from one place to another, one day to the next. He wondered if anything like this had ever happened to them, or if they were thinking about suicide themselves. Did anyone in their lives know? Would anyone care? Shaking the thoughts from his head, he kept walking.

The bright August sun was so different from his mood, all-pervasive in the completely opposite way. There was hope now – like the rising of the sun, the situation had inevitably changed, luckily for the better. But he couldn’t get rid of the nagging doubt: what if this happens again? What if nobody finds him? What if it’s too late, and all he gets is a minute’s silence at a few rugby matches and a photo on a wall at Twickenham, not another chance at life? The introspection continued and he quickened his pace. Charlotte, Boris, and Billie didn’t deserve his dour mood on such an apparently nice day.

He unlocked the door and smiled as Boris immediately barrelled into his legs. “Hey, buddy!” he said, crouching down with his face creasing into a grin. “How’s it going?”  
“Billie won’t play with me because I said her painting was bad and even you could do better, but Mummy gave us both a biscuit so we’d be nice.” The little boy looped his arms around Ben’s neck, still babbling. “Where were you, Daddy? Mummy wouldn’t tell me.”

Ben lifted Boris up and walked into the kitchen. “Uncle George is poorly and had to go to hospital, so I went to make sure he’s okay.”  
Billie looked up from her painting. Ben could see what his son meant about the quality of the artwork, but it was decent for a three-year-old. “Daddy!” she shouted. “Look at my painting!”  
He nodded consideringly. “Who is it?”  
She extended a painty finger to each small figure in turn. “That’s Welford, and you, and Uncle Tom, and Uncle George doing a kick, and me and Boris watching with Mummy.” Ben smiled encouragingly at her despite the sudden ache in his heart.

Thankfully, Charlotte came in at that moment. “Okay, Billie, time to put the painting away for lunch!” Their daughter skipped off to wash her hands, and Charlotte shared an exasperated grin with Ben as Boris chased after her. When all the paint had been wiped off the table and replaced by sandwiches, she turned to her husband and put her hands on his shoulders. “How are you doing, love? I know this is a horrible situation for everyone, but I want to help you.”

Ben shrugged, biting his lip to keep it from trembling. “I mean...” His voice quivered, then cracked as his wife pulled him into her arms. “It’s awful and I hate it there, but Joe wants me to be there when his parents arrive. I couldn’t say no.” He wiped his eyes in vain. “I was just thinking about how George would do the same for Tom if he asked. And how great he’s been about Tiff.” He broke off as the tears overwhelmed him. Even in his own house, the sanitised smell of the hospital lingered on his skin, a constant reminder of what he had so nearly lost.

“Are you okay, Daddy?” Billie said, hugging his leg. “I tried to keep the paint on the paper like you said, but Boris was mean, so some went on him too.”  
Ben laughed, forgetting the wetness of his cheeks. “Don’t worry about it, Bill. Sometimes annoying older brothers need to be painted.” She giggled. “Now, come on, let’s have lunch.”

After the meal, Charlotte drove Ben back to the hospital. His car was still at George’s house, so the kids were bouncing around in the back in excitement at the unexpected journey. “Can we see Uncle George?” Boris chirped.  
“Please?” Billie chimed in. “We can cheer him up so he gets better.”  
“He really likes us – please!”

Charlotte took Ben’s hand. “I – Uncle George is very tired at the moment, so he needs a lot of sleep. Maybe tomorrow when he feels a bit better.” They both groaned in disappointment as they pulled into the drop-off area. “We can go and see Bailee if you want instead?” Their frowns turned into grins of excitement. “Okay then. Now what do you say to Daddy?”  
“Bye-bye, Daddy! We love you!” they responded obligingly. Ben leaned over to kiss his wife and got out of the car, waving at his children. With their farewells still ringing in his ears, he walked slowly back to the ICU waiting room.

Joe was sat in a corner by himself, surrounded by brightly coloured information leaflets at odds with his pallid face. He looked up with wide eyes at the sound of Ben’s approaching footsteps, but slumped back into his seat when he realised who it was. “Hey, Ben,” he said wearily. “How’re your family?”  
He shrugged and sat down next to his teammate. “Pretty good – Billie threw paint all over Boris because he insulted her painting, but Char mopped her up.” They both stared at the wall opposite. “How long until your parents get here?”

Joe sighed. “About ten minutes, Mum thinks. I just – I don’t know what they’re expecting. It’s not like there’s anything we can do here apart from waiting. And my dad isn’t exactly good in these situations.”  
Ben bit his lip. “It’s probably easier for them to be here to wait than stay at home and not be able to see him if anything does go wrong.” He rapped his knuckles on the wooden arm of the chair and leaned back. Joe mirrored him, phone clutched in his hand.

A few minutes later it buzzed and he shot to his feet. “I’ll just go and-” he pointed to the door and rushed out. Ben stood up himself and rolled his neck a few times. He didn’t know the Fords well. Mike was good for a bit of banter after games, but he and Sally-Anne had shared only a few brief exchanges. He couldn’t imagine a worse situation to have to get to know them better.

Taking a deep breath, he patted his hair down and prepared his best comforting smile. It was like Tiff’s last few rounds of chemo – he wasn’t directly linked to the patient, but he was close enough to be deemed adequate support. He’d had a lot of practice consoling Tom, and somehow he could tell it would all be needed again now.

Ben could hear footsteps approaching the waiting room and he fixed a reassuring smile on his face. Nobody seemed to be crying, at the very least. He twisted his hands in the hem of his shirt – thankfully not a Tigers one; no one needed a reminder of that right now. Finally, after what seemed like an age, Joe rounded the corner with his parents in tow, and a man who Ben assumed was Jacob, the youngest Ford brother. The resemblance to George was almost painful.

As the family came closer, Ben could see that they weren’t holding up as well as he had first assumed. Mike’s lips were tight and his knuckles clenched white, while Sally-Anne’s eyes were red from crying. After Joe had made the introductions, Ben felt Jacob’s shuddering breaths against his ear as they hugged briefly.

A short, awkward silence sat between them. What was there to say when your brother, son, or friend had tried to kill himself? Mike eventually went to Ben and shook his hand firmly. “I – we – want to say how thankful we are for you, Ben. Without you, George would most likely be dead. So...” He scrubbed a hand across his eyes and stepped back. “Thank you.” Sally-Anne came forward and kissed his cheek, hands shaking as she rested them lightly on his shoulders.

The gratitude in her tired eyes was overwhelming and Ben could barely stop himself from crying. “I mean, yeah – you’re welcome? But I just did what anyone else would have done. I’m just happy he’s still here.”  
Joe wrapped his arms around his teammate and pulled him into a chair. “When we were at the front desk, Grace said there would be another update from the consultant in a few minutes.” Ben nodded and forced his smile back into place. His insides were in turmoil again – alive doesn’t mean well, a small voice reminded him. There’s always the possibility of a downturn.

The Fords pulled some chairs up so they were sat in a rough circle. Sally-Anne was holding on to Jacob and Joe’s hands like they might vanish if she let go, and Mike was sat as close to his youngest son as possible, give the width of the plastic hospital chairs. Ben suddenly became conscious of being an outsider. Yes, he and George were friends – he might even venture that they were good friends – and they had known each other for years, but he was essentially there because he lived the closest to George in the city.

He shifted in his seat and tried to avoid eye contact. Before, it was him and Joe against it all, completely reliant on each other, but now the whole family was there, and Ben was alone and uncomfortable.

One of the frequent storms of noise erupted from inside the ICU, with all the manic beeping and slamming of doors that accompanied it. Sally-Anne buried her face in Joe’s shoulder and tears started welling up in Jacob’s eyes. Mike looked at Ben. He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t reassure them that it wasn’t George who had just deteriorated, and he couldn’t promise that everything would be okay. All he could do was sit there and hope.

Finally the doors swung open and a nurse rushed over to another of the family huddles. They all leapt to their feet and hurried into the ward, a young girl following after them, sobbing. Ben bowed his head. It wasn’t that he was glad for their suffering, but the thought of having to share the pain of that news with the Fords was beyond imaginable.

Once the sounds from within the ICU had died down, the main consultant came over to George’s family and Ben and introduced himself. “I’m Dr Thomas,” he said, smiling with his eyes. He shook hands with each of them and exchanged names. “As you probably know, I’m the consultant for this ward, which means I check up on all the patients twice a day. I can give you all the latest update on George’s condition now.”

Sally-Anne tightened her grip on her sons’ hands, while Mike shot a tight-lipped smile at Ben. “I’m glad to tell you that he has improved rapidly since his admission this morning. Treatment seems to be having an effect, and if he improves at the current rate, we should be able to move him to a normal ward tomorrow.”

“What’s the long-term prognosis?” Mike asked, sitting up straighter. “You’re suggesting that he will regain consciousness today, but what will happen after that?”  
Dr Thomas coughed before replying. “It’s difficult to say before we get the chance to talk to George himself. In this case, the mental challenges are greater than the physical ones. Consequently, it’s very dependent on the patient’s attitude once he wakes up.”

“Okay, I understand that,” Mike said, nodding. “But preseason starts next week – when do you think he can get back to rugby? If the physical issues are dealt with soon, then he shouldn’t miss too much game time.”  
Sally-Anne glanced at her husband, biting her lip. “Mike, dear, I don’t think rugby is the first priority here – for any of us. Let’s not get too excited before Georgie even wakes up.”  
Dr Thomas nodded in agreement. “I realise that you are concerned about your son’s career, Mr Ford, but we need to remember that his current state may have had several causes and a high-profile, pressurised sporting career is likely to have contributed in some way.”

There was a prolonged silence. Ben was stunned. All this time he’d thought rugby was what got George up in the morning, and now this – the idea that he had been so stressed about it that he’d wanted to end it all. He could see from Joe’s clenched jaw that he was having similar thoughts.

Mike seemed to have wrestled his competitive urge back under control. “Okay, fine. What do you suggest as the next steps for us as family – and friends, obviously,” he added with a tip of the head towards Ben.  
The doctor paused, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Usually we advise carers to decide who they wish to know about the situation – extended family, friends of the patient, their employer. You also need to make sure you’re looking after yourselves: you falling ill will be no help to George or any of the medical staff supporting him, frankly.”

Sally-Anne wiped her eyes and said, “Thank you, doctor. We really appreciate what you’re doing.”  
Dr Thomas got to his feet. “You’re very welcome. I’ll be making another round in the morning so there will be more news then.” A chorus of subdued thank-yous followed his departure.

“Okay,” Mike said, taking charge in the face of the others’ silence. “We need to think about who to tell. The Tigers coaches – who else?”  
Jacob put up a hand. “I think Faz needs to know.” They all looked at him in surprise. “What?” he said defensively. “He’s one of the only people George has actually spoken to out of choice recently. And they’ve been really good friends for years.”

Ben nodded slowly. It was true that Owen and George had been almost attached at the hip in England camp, but he’d attributed that to their weird flyhalf mind meld and not thought more about it.  
“If you say so,” Mike replied, shrugging. “I thought they were more rugby friends than normal friends, but okay. Who else?”

“I think Jess,” Joe said tentatively. “I know they broke up, but she should know. We can’t pretend they were never together and leave her out of this.”  
Ben pulled a face. “Really? The way she was behaving towards him recently, I think she deserves it.” With the four Fords staring at him with varying levels of agreement, he flushed. “I mean, it’s your decision.”  
“How about we tell her,” Sally-Anne suggested, “but she only visits if she wants to? If you’re right, Ben, she probably won’t anyway.” They all nodded and the second name was decided.

Looking around, Ben could see that the process of making these decisions was helping the family. They weren’t helpless anymore; they were contributing to George’s recovery. “Right,” Mike said, resuming control of the conversation. “One more is enough for now. Who do we reckon?”  
“I’d like another teammate, if you wouldn’t mind,” Joe suggested. “I think with Ben already here, it makes sense. Plus most of G’s mates are on the team.”

They turned to look at Ben. “I’d go for Jonny May personally. They shared a villa in South Africa so they’ve spent time together, and he might have some idea of what  
caused this.”  
Mike shrugged. “Fine. I’ll call Geordan and Jess, Joe can tell Jonny, and Ben’s got Faz. Jacob, look after your mother.” With a firm nod, he walked out of the waiting room.

Sally-Anne leaned forwards and rested her hand on Ben’s knee. “I’m sorry about him, Ben. He’s struggling to process the news, so he’s distracting himself by being in charge and reasserting his authority over the rest of us.”  
Ben smiled, covering her hand with his own. “It’s okay. Tom acted weirdly for weeks after we first heard the news about Tiff. Everyone copes differently.”  
“Come on then,” Joe said gruffly. “Let’s phone the others.”

The two men went outside to ring their friends. Ben sat on a wall just outside the main entrance to the hospital, enjoying the sun on his skin, while Joe paced up and down waiting for Jonny to pick up. Steeling himself, he clicked on Owen’s number. He knew Owen and Georgie would have only got home from the honeymoon the day before – although at least there wasn’t too much of a time difference in Venice.

“Hello?” Owen said.  
“Hey, Faz, it’s Ben,” he said.  
“I know.” Ben could hear the accompanying eye roll from a hundred miles away. “What’s up? Not that I don’t mind, but you don’t usually call.”  
“It’s about George.”  
“Okay? What about him?”

“He’s in hospital.” There was a sharp intake of air at the other end of the phone. “Last night – he tried to kill himself.” The sun suddenly didn’t seem so warming. Ben could hear that Joe had stopped pacing.  
“Shit,” Owen swore. “I knew he wasn’t feeling great, but...”  
“Yeah.” He didn’t need to say anything else. “Look, his family wanted you to know.”

“Can I come up?” Owen asked urgently, anticipating the next question.  
“Whenever you can, mate; we’d really appreciate it.”  
“Okay. I’ll be there in a few hours – text me the address, yeah?”  
“Of course. Thank you so much, Faz.” He hung up.

Joe seemed to be nearing the end of his conversation too, so Ben messaged the address to Owen while he waited. “You alright?” Ben said, looking up at Joe’s hand on his shoulder.  
“I guess,” Joe sighed, sitting down beside him. “Jonny was crying a lot. It was hard to hear.”  
Ben wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “He cares, y’know? And Faz is driving up now.”

Joe’s eyes were fixed on the floor. “It’s one thing for us to know that people care about George, but clearly he didn’t think so. Doesn’t that make it our fault too?”  
“I mean...” Ben struggled for words. “I don’t think we should make this a blame game. We just need to recognise that he does have that support around him, but maybe we didn’t make enough of an effort.”

They sat there for a while longer, deep inside their own heads, until Jacob came out to find them. “How are you two?” he asked, looking shyly at Ben. Sometimes it was difficult to remember that the youngest Ford was only nineteen, but in this moment he could easily believe it.  
He patted the wall beside him and waited for Jacob to sit before he spoke. “I think we’re okay. Faz is driving up now – that was a good call, by the way – and Jonny will probably be here in twenty minutes.”

Jacob hummed in response. “They sound a lot more enthusiastic than Jess. Dad called her after he phoned Tigers, and he started yelling. Mum had to ask him to be quiet.” He shivered. “It was scary. He came back and said that she doesn’t care, doesn’t want anything to do with George anymore, and she’s coming to pick up Bailee on Monday. Apparently she screamed at Dad for interrupting her holiday.”

Joe’s eyes filled with sympathy. He shuffled over and hugged his brother tightly. “Jacob ... I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I knew she was being a bit of an arse recently, but that’s ridiculous. They were together for five years, for God’s sake!”

The younger man shifted closer. “I just want George to wake up. I don’t even mind if things don’t go back to normal, I just want to have my big brother back.” His eyes were shining. “I didn’t realise how much I missed being around you guys while I was at Loughborough, but now...” He hid his face in Joe’s neck. “I hate this, so much.” His voice was wet.

Ben moved away to give them some privacy. He couldn’t work out why Jess was acting so unreasonably all of a sudden. He knew that if his ex had tried to commit suicide, he would be there for them – unless they had been arguing for months. A trickle of fear slid down his spine. What if there was a reason for the breakup? If George had been so miserable that he didn’t care about his own life anymore, it would be unlikely that he would look after someone else as well. If George had been neglecting Jess, then maybe she was justified in her behaviour. He shook his head. He didn’t know, and at this point he definitely shouldn’t ask.

He looked back at the Ford brothers. They were sat close together, arms wrapped around each other. It looked like the perfect picture, but the absence of George was almost palpable. Their faces were so similar – if Ben squinted in the late afternoon light, he could almost see the George he knew as a teenager and the man he would become.

“We’re going to head back,” Joe said with a sad smile to Ben. “Are you okay waiting for Jonny?” The scrumhalf nodded, reaching out a hand to squeeze his friend’s shoulder. The two men slowly made their way into the hospital, each still holding on to his brother almost desperately.

Ben ran his hands through his hair, trying to ignore their trembling. The pain and misery on Joe’s face had become almost manageable, but seeing Jacob, who was still a teenager, suffering so much was putting him in danger of cracking too. He had a finite store of resilience in the face of the Fords’ anguish but now it was running low.

He pulled out his phone to text his wife. _Quick update, _he typed. _G should be out of the ICU by tomorrow, parents and Jacob here now, Jonny and Faz on their way. Love you so much xxx. _Her reply came back almost immediately. _Hope you’re doing okay – come home for dinner if you can xxx. _He smiled. Even in the bleakest of times, Charlotte knew what to say. Even with Tiff – his only reference point to this kind of utter despair – she could get him to play a game with all the kids and Tom while having conversations with his sister-in-law. His chest felt warmer just thinking about her.

But then he remembered Jess, and George. It always seemed to him that they had that same kind of reassuring relationship, where each thrived off the company of the other. Whenever Ben saw them together after games in Bath, they would be practically glowing. But maybe since the return to Leicester – and Jess’s first time living in the city – things had been more strained. What with Jess’s business being based in Bath and the dismal performance of the team over the last few seasons, perhaps it had seemed like too big a step.

Ben closed his eyes. He wasn’t a relationship counsellor, he reminded himself for the fourth time in an hour. It wasn’t for him to judge. He was there to be supportive for George and his family, while not breaking down himself. After a few deep breaths, he went back to the ICU.

When he walked into the waiting room, the tension between the Fords was practically shimmering in the air like a heat haze. Mike was ostensibly reading the newspaper, but his eyes were fixed on one spot on the page and the edges of the paper were quivering as his arms took the strain of being elevated and immobile for so long. Sally-Anne had also resorted to a magazine, although she was more engrossed (perhaps by force of will) than her husband and she didn’t look up as Ben arrived. Joe and Jacob were sat either side of a low table and they were playing a card game.

Ben sat down beside them and folded his arms. Their little group had settled now into its new normal, with each person occupied in the interminable wait for news. He knew that visiting hours were between five and six in the evening, so there were only a few hours left before they could see George. Hopefully Jonny and Owen would have arrived by then too, so Ben wouldn’t have to bear the brunt of the Fords’ emotions alone again.

He lost himself in the rhythmic sound of cards hitting the table and the regular beeping of the ICU. It was still warm in the waiting room and it would probably stay that way for a few more hours until the sun set and all the heat was leached from the air again. Ben shivered, the hairs on his arms standing on end in anticipation. It mirrored his emotions: everything appeared to be fine, but his subconscious was preparing him for another shock.

The image of George motionless on the floor crept into his mind and the worry intensified once more. The doctors said he was stable, but stable at what stage in recovery? People who were in car crashes could be critical, but stable. He clenched his jaw and pushed the thought away. He would see for himself soon enough.

His phone pinged with a text and he opened it, glad for the distraction. _I’m outside the front entrance_, Jonny had written. _Where do I go now? _Ben considered sending directions, but then decided against it. _I’ll come and get you – stay there. _Even though he’d been back in the waiting room for fifteen minutes at most, he needed to get out.

The entire room was stifling with emotions at both ends of the spectrum: the joy of the partner of the young woman who had just woken up from a coma, the devastation of the man whose father passed away after a traffic collision, and the in-between numbness of the Fords. He tapped Joe on the shoulder and the younger man looked up from his cards. “Jonny’s here. I’m going to get him from the main entrance.” Joe nodded and looked back to his hand.

Ben walked quickly to the main doors of the hospital. He wanted to drag it out, make the most of his time away from the waiting room, but he knew that was unfair to Jonny. His teammate knew that George was alive, but anything more than that was a mystery. The winger didn’t deserve another five minutes of anxious waiting just to satisfy Ben’s need for space.

Ben strode through the corridors, skirting around harried-looking nurses and white-coated doctors. It was strange how, in the space of less than a day, this hospital had become a known area, almost as familiar as his own home or even the Tigers training ground. In spite of his new knowledge of the place, he still never wanted to see it again. The yellow walls and ice-blue floors would always remind him of the fear and the pain and the uncertainty of those hellish minutes alone in the waiting room.

He approached the automatic doors of the main entrance, each step lighter. He could see Jonny standing outside, dancing from foot to foot and fiddling with his hair. Ben paused for a moment to collect himself and paste the now-normal fake reassuring smile on his face. He breathed deeply, rolled his shoulders a few times and stepped outside into the sunlight.

“Jonny!” he said, walking up to his winger with his arms outstretched.  
Jonny’s head shot up. “Ben – where is he?” Now he was closer, Ben could feel the nervous energy rolling off his friend in waves. He clapped him on the shoulder to settle him before he spoke.  
“He’s in the ICU still. It’s about a two-minute walk.” Jonny nodded, clenching and unclenching his fists.

He didn’t even seem able to restrain his jittering once they entered the hospital; Ben had to pull him out of the way of a convoy of nurses before they collided. “He’s okay, really, mate,” Ben murmured, trying to soothe his younger teammate. “The doctors say he might wake up soon.”  
“I don’t doubt that,” Jonny said through gritted teeth as they skirted around a bed blocking most of the corridor. “It’s that he was unconscious to start with. I know we joke and call each other prats, but this is so far beyond that.”

They reached the door of the ICU waiting room, and Ben tugged on Jonny’s arm. They stood outside, with Ben fully conscious that they could be seen by the Fords through the glass panels at any moment if they looked in the right direction. He sighed. He didn’t know when he’d become the go-between for George’s family and friends, but it was a role he didn’t relish. “Jonny, the thing is,” he said in a low voice, “we feel awful right now, but his family are on a whole different level. Just try to be careful, yeah? Mike in particular – he seems okay on the surface but you can tell he’s struggling.”

Jonny frowned and crossed his arms. “So because they’re his family I can’t be upset? We lived together for a year, Ben.”  
“No, I don’t mean that,” he replied. “They’re just hurting in about twenty different ways. We don’t need to start making each other miserable too.”  
Jonny huffed but pulled his friend in for a hug. “Okay, wise one. No pissing off the sad family, I get it.” Ben grunted into his chest. It was as close to an agreement as he would get from the winger. He wasn’t unintelligent, but there was undoubtedly some truth behind his nickname.

“Come on then,” he muttered and opened the door. Every person in the room looked up, a mix of suspicion and hope on their faces, but only the Fords continued to watch them after a few seconds.  
As they drew nearer, Joe stood up and reached out to Jonny. “Hey, mate,” he said, voice surprisingly steady given the redness of his eyes. “Thanks for coming.”  
“It’s no problem, Joey. I wanted to be here for George – and for all of you guys.” Jacob looked up and smiled weakly, while Mike and Sally-Anne’s gazes stayed fixed on their magazines. Ben grimaced. George’s parents seemed to be shutting down, as if to prevent any more emotions manifesting themselves.

Jonny pulled up a chair next to Ben and sat down. “So, what’s happening now?” he asked quietly, leaning forwards.  
Ben was about to answer when Joe sighed heavily and spoke. “Visiting hours start in about twenty minutes. We can go in and see him in small groups so it doesn’t get too crowded. You’re here now, and Faz should be arriving within the next hour or so.”  
Jonny sat back, fiddling with the hem of his T-shirt. “And then?”

Ben jumped in to alleviate the stress lines forming around Joe’s mouth. “Last we heard, they think George will wake up at some point tomorrow. Beyond that, we don’t know. If it really was – you know – then treatment is dependent on what caused it.”  
“Okay,” Jonny scratched the back of his neck. “So it’s a waiting game?”  
“Pretty much. We know he’s not in immediate danger but it’s still not good, so we wait.” Joe appeared more exhausted than the late night warranted. “Jacob and I have been playing cards for a while, but I think we’ve run out of enthusiasm for that.” He nodded towards his younger brother, who was hunched over his phone.

A thought occurred to Ben. “Probably the only useful thing we can do is discuss possible reasons for it. One of the nurses told us earlier that it might help them work out how to help him faster.”  
Joe made a considering noise. “Alright. Perhaps we should take this somewhere else?” He indicated his frozen parents.

The other two men nodded and followed him through the maze of corridors to the restaurant. They sat at a small table in the corner, careful not to be overheard too easily. The other risk was that they would be recognised and rumours would begin to spread: two England players and a Tiger in a hospital in their home city was not something that could go unnoticed for long.

“Right,” said Ben. “Joe and I discussed this earlier, but it might be better if you told us your ideas first and then we compare.”  
Jonny shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know... It feels a bit weird to be judging something so important like this.”  
Joe laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s important that we help George in whatever way we can, yes? And the doctors think this would be useful for his treatment after he regains consciousness. Please?”  
Jonny coughed. “If you say so.” He tugged at the collar of his shirt for a long moment.

“If we’re going for the usual reasoning for s- something like this, I would say that Tigers and England haven’t really been performing lately – no offence, guys – and George always takes a lot of the burden on himself. As well as the breakup with Jess, it’s enough to make anyone pretty miserable.”  
“That’s basically what we said,” Joe said, biting his lip. “But there must be something else. George isn’t the kind of person to do anything on a whim – you know what he’s like. He’s got a five-step plan for getting to training every morning.”

“Maybe it goes further than that,” Ben said. “Tigers have been bad for a while now, so he might have been – might still be – depressed? Faz said he’d been feeling down recently.”  
Jonny folded his arms on the table and leaned his head on them. “I hate this,” he said petulantly, suddenly reminiscent of Jacob earlier. “I don’t want to guess if Fordy was depressed or not. Waiting for him to wake up and tell us himself sucks.”

Joe rolled his eyes at Ben. It seemed like they were still the only two managing to be rational about the situation. “Yes, but we can’t help him much in any other way.” Jonny groaned and hit his head on the table. Sighing in exasperation, Joe stood up. “Does anyone want a drink or a snack? I haven’t eaten for hours.”

Ben shook his head, but remembered Charlotte’s earlier text. _Hi_, he texted. _I probably won’t make it back in time for dinner with the kids but I’m going to come home by 8ish. Love you xxx. _In all honesty, he couldn’t face another night at the hospital, especially as his fellow visitors were becoming more and more irritable and frustrated. Some time with his wife and even the kids would be enough to wash away the pain he’d endured in the last twenty hours and restore him to some semblance of a functioning friend.

Joe came back to the table and put down three Cokes. Jonny raised an eyebrow mulishly. “It’s still the offseason!” Joe protested and slid one to Ben. The scrum half opened it and took a long swallow, smirking at Jonny as he did so. They sat in silence for a while, each meditating on the murky depths of their drinks and minds.  
“I’m going home at about eight,” Ben said abruptly. “I don’t think I can stay without sleep for another twelve hours.”

Joe nodded amiably. “I understand, Ben. You’ve been here the longest and you’ve probably been through the most.” He fiddled with the bottle top. “You will come back tomorrow, right?”  
“Of course, mate. I just need to decompress a bit – and Char’s already making dinner for me.” As he spoke, her replying text pinged. _Ok, I’ll save you some. Hope it’s all good over there. Love you xxx. _He smiled at the phone. Kind, sweet, loving Char – he hoped George would find someone like that one day. Steady, dependable – someone who could counterbalance the intense lifestyle of an international rugby player.

They had about exhausted the topic of George’s motives – or become too exhausted to think about it anymore – so they moved on to the more neutral topic of preseason training. But even that wasn’t safe ground now. “D’you think Fordy will be able to do any of preseason?” Jonny asked forlornly.

“It depends,” Joe said calmly. “He might be able to physically – at least towards the end – but it might not be the best thing for him mentally. It would be even more pressure to try to recover from a stay in hospital to match fitness than just a normal preseason.” Ben nodded in agreement. Joe was a great older brother. Always looking out for his younger siblings, protecting them from the behaviour of their parents...

“Alright, fine,” Jonny continued. “Say George doesn’t do preseason. Who’s playing ten? Matt Toomua?”  
Ben shrugged. “That’s not exactly a bad backup option. Didn’t he play flyhalf for his team back in Australia?” They all pulled a face. Matt’s recent past with other teams wasn’t their specialist subject. “I’m sure he’ll be fine, though. Anyway, we were so bad last year that people probably won’t be able to tell the difference.”

Joe glared at him and Ben put his hands up in protest. “Let’s be honest, Joe, none of us did much good last season. A change in personnel – even if it’s only temporary – could help to shake things up a bit.” They lapsed into silence again, reliving the agony and frustration that had come with the 2017/18 season for the Tigers.

Ben’s phone buzzed again and he pulled it out in surprise. Charlotte didn’t usually text much – she said it didn’t carry the weight of an actual call, and Ben was inclined to agree. She was right about most things. He unlocked his phone. The message wasn’t from his wife.

“Faz is just parking now,” he said, waving the phone by way of explanation. “I’ll go and get him, then bring him back to the waiting room.”  
“That was quick,” Jonny said, voice too flat to convey his surprise.  
“It’s like Jacob said earlier,” Joe replied. “They’re best friends. And if you can’t break a speed limit when your best friend’s in hospital, when can you?” Ben tipped his head in acknowledgement of Joe’s statement and hurried away.

Owen had sounded okay earlier – albeit several hours and hundreds of miles previously. On the other hand, he was renowned for not letting emotions show in public. Rugby families, Ben thought with a small smile. Great on the pitch, but horrendous at emotional intelligence. He quickened his pace.

The rest of their little group had been at the hospital for hours, he reminded himself. They all had the certainty that George wasn’t going to decline at any moment. Owen, meanwhile, had been driving from London, unable to contact them and thus vulnerable to his wildest imaginations. Hopefully he would be coping, Ben thought selfishly. He didn’t want to deal with another crying rugby player – or another one who was repressing it to the point of non-existence.

He walked through the double doors of the main entrance of the hospital. The air was cooler now and the sun was beginning to slide towards the western horizon. Ben looked around for his friend. He wouldn’t be hard to miss – 6’3 rugby players rarely blended in with the crowd. Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped. He turned around to see Owen standing there, breathing heavily. His face was flushed – from the exercise or from stress, he couldn’t tell. “Hey, Ben,” he gasped. “I got here as soon as I could.”

Ben hugged him tightly, feeling the rise and fall of his chest like the calm inevitability of waves on a beach. He waited for the rate to slow before speaking. “Thanks, Faz. We all really appreciate it.”  
Owen pulled back, leaving one hand on Ben’s shoulder. “How is he? Can we see him yet?”  
Ben turned towards the doors, silently inviting Owen to follow him. “He’s stable. The doctors think he should wake up tomorrow. And visiting hours start in-” he checked the time on his phone- “ten minutes, so you’ve arrived at a good time.”

Owen exhaled heavily. “Okay. That’s good. Yeah.” Ben bumped against his side companionably. “I was so scared, Ben. Like – I was driving along, and an ambulance went past, and I just started crying? It was the weirdest thing. I thought I was okay, but I saw the lights and I was gone.”  
A lump formed in Ben’s throat and he squeezed Owen’s hand. “He’s okay, though, mate. He’s still here with us.” He could hear Owen’s shaky breaths, even though he was struggling to see through wet eyes.

They came to the ominous double doors to the waiting room and Ben stopped. “What?” Owen asked, nerves heightened by any sudden change. “What’s wrong?”  
“Nothing,” Ben replied, instantly regretting his actions. He rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I just wanted to say that Mike isn’t too keen on you being here – everyone else is fine, but he’s a bit suspicious.”

“Why?” Owen said with a frown, eyes flicking through the glass in the door. “It’s as much his fault as mine – and at least George wanted to talk to me!”  
Ben bit his tongue. “I know, mate, but he’s very rugby-focused. He sees you as a threat.”  
Owen rolled his eyes but smiled. “It’s okay, Ben. I’m not going to make a scene. I’m here for George, and Mike will just have to deal with it.”

The two men walked into the waiting room, both wincing as the hinges on the doors creaked into the silence. Jonny sprang up when he saw them, and Joe followed close behind. “Hey, Faz,” Jonny said, hugging Owen tightly. “It’s good to see you.”  
Once Jonny had moved away, Joe shook Owen firmly by the hand. “Thank you for coming. It means a lot.” Owen glanced towards Joe’s parents and raised his eyebrows. “Jacob and I are glad you’re here, anyway,” he amended. With the greetings over, they went back to the growing cluster of chairs to wait for visiting hours to begin.

Ben sat, legs crossed at the ankle, watching the Fords. Mike looked like he was waiting for a meeting to start, scribbling notes and diagrams on the back of a newspaper. He grimaced. The Youngs were a rugby-mad family, but if something like this was happening, nobody would be thinking about the sport. They would be focused on their family and supporting each other, not blocking everyone else out to formulate tactics.

He made eye contact with Owen and pulled a face. The flyhalf mirrored him in agreement. It wasn’t the ideal situation for the nominal head of the family to shut down when his direction was needed most, but they had to make the best of it.

Likewise, Sally-Anne was still reading a magazine. The corners of the pages were trembling imperceptibly, but that was the only sign of emotion. Joe and Jacob were sat close together, playing some kind of football game on their phones. Even though they weren’t communicating directly, it was clear they were more aware of each other than their parents.

The door to the ICU swung open and everyone’s heads whipped around. The doctor from earlier – Dr Thomas, Ben remembered – was standing there with a friendly smile, holding a clipboard in his hands. He walked over to another family group and said a few words to them before they hurried into the ICU. The doctor followed them and closed the door behind him.

Ben looked at the time on his phone. It was time for visiting hours to start, so presumably the doctor was allowing each group in to see their patient individually. It made sense. Ben didn’t want anyone else to be a witness to the Fords’ grief as he had been over the past twelve hours; other families likely felt the same way.

The little group sat there in a continued silence. Before, the wait had seemed endless, but now it was only a matter of minutes until they could see George, the anxiety and dread had started churning again. Ben met Jonny’s eyes and they shared a tight smile. It couldn’t be long now. Jonny’s fingers were tapping incessantly on the arm of the chair and a muscle was jumping in Mike’s jaw.

After what seemed like hours but could have only been minutes, Dr Thomas came out of the ICU with the previous group. Their faces seemed relatively cheerful – Ben took it as a good omen and crossed his fingers. Despite the warm summer evening, the hairs on his arms were standing on end.

“It’s going to be fine,” he murmured to Jacob, noticing the paleness of his face. The teenager smiled, but his eyes were still wary. Ben ducked his head. If something like this ever happened again, even if it wasn’t intentional... The Ford family was close to splitting at the seams now, so another time would almost destroy them.

Finally, at last, answering all their prayers, Dr Thomas walked over to their group. “You can see George now,” he said. Ben searched his face for any trace of negative emotion but couldn’t find any. The man was either confident or a good actor, he reflected.

The party all got up, with the Fords going ahead while George’s Tigers teammates hung back. The closer they got to the door – to George – the more Ben’s heart throbbed in his chest. His friend had looked fine earlier, but they said he was on a ventilator, and presumably hooked up to a host of other wires and tubes.

“I’m terrified,” Jonny whispered, clutching at Ben’s arm. “He’s definitely okay, right?”  
Ben wrapped an arm around Jonny’s shoulders. “Yes, Jonny. We wouldn’t be visiting him if he wasn’t stable. And if there are any weird machines nearby, they’re there to help him.”  
“He’s okay, mate,” Owen chimed in. The flyhalf took Jonny’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “I trust the doctors. Anyway, you’ll see for yourself in a minute.” The three rugby players hesitated outside the door as the family walked in ahead of them. They heard Sally-Anne gasp and burst into tears, while Jacob was sniffling quietly.  
Ben turned away. “Come on, lads,” he said, tugging at his friends, “let’s give them a moment.”

The three men retreated a few metres outside the door, letting it swing closed behind them. The sound of the Fords’ grief was still easily audible from where they were stood. Ben clenched his teeth. In the worst days of Tiff’s illness, he’d heard that same gut-wrenching agony in his brother’s cries, and he couldn’t bear to hear it again. Jonny seemed to be feeling the same, as he blinked furiously and bit his lip. Owen gathered both of them into his chest and rubbed their backs reassuringly. “It’s okay,” he said in a hushed voice. “We’ll see him in a minute. We can’t expect too much. He’s alive, and that’s what matters.” Ben hiccupped and dried his eyes.

“Are you three alright?” They looked up to see Dr Thomas holding the door, face full of concern.  
“We’re – struggling a bit. Letting the family go first,” Owen explained, tightening his grip protectively.  
He nodded, eyes unwavering and steady. “That sounds like a good idea. Take as long as you need. We don’t have many patients in the ward at the moment, so you don’t have to rush.” Ben grunted his thanks as his eyes filled with tears again and he buried his face in Owen’s shoulder. He distantly heard the door open and close again.

Several minutes later, once Ben had regained his composure, the Fords emerged from the ICU. Mike’s pale face was a stark contrast with his wife and sons’ red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “You can go in now,” Mike got out through gritted teeth.  
Ben felt Owen’s shoulder move as the taller man reached over to shake Mike’s hand. “Thank you,” he said softly. Then the Fords moved away and Ben felt himself being gently pushed into the ward by Owen, Jonny alongside him.

His eyes flitted skittishly across the two rows of identical white beds, searching frantically for the man he knew as one of his closest friends. The inhabitants of the beds were an array of greyish skin and red scars, barely distinguishable. Jonny let out a cry and ran to the other end of the room, with the other two following on instinct.

“George,” Jonny breathed, sounding like he’d just sprinted the length of the pitch. “You’re here.” He grabbed George’s hand and stared at it with wide eyes rapidly filling with tears. “You’re here.” Then, lost for words, he sank to the floor, cradling his friend’s motionless hand.

Ben couldn’t help trying to compare the George he saw in front of him with the one from hours before. The skin might be a bit less pallid, providing more evidence of blood flow, but then that could be down to the bright hospital lights. A ventilator tube held George’s mouth open – it looked painful even though, he reminded himself, it was necessary. The younger man’s eyelids flickered momentarily and Ben sucked in a breath. Any sign of life was a gift. After seeing him slumped on the floor, even this was a blessing.

He moved forward, unknowing, and sat in the chair by George’s head. “Hey, mate,” he whispered. “I’m glad you’re still with us.” He reached a hand out and gently, carefully, stroked his forehead, like he would do with Boris or Billie if they were having a bad dream. “I was so scared earlier, for you and your family and everyone who knows you. You have so many friends.” He lowered his voice and murmured into George’s ear, “I wish you had talked to me. Whatever it was – whatever it is, I want to try to help you.”

He sat back, suddenly overwhelmed. Jonny was still keening quietly on the floor, and Ben knelt down next to him. “You’re okay too, Jonny. We all are. It’s only going to get better from here, I promise.” The winger nodded with his eyes screwed shut. “Now, let’s go and let Owen talk to him.” The flyhalf was still standing back, arms folded and expression closed off.

Jonny held out a hand and Ben pulled him to his feet. “I don’t want to go yet, Ben,” Jonny said plaintively.  
“We don’t have to,” he replied. “Just come over here with me and give Faz some space.” They shuffled a few metres away. Ben didn’t want to watch or deliberately overhear, but there wasn’t anywhere else to go in the room, and they couldn’t leave because Jonny would kick up a fuss. He turned away, staring at the floor, and waited.

In the stillness of the ward, he could hear nearly every word that Owen said, and the pained, pleading tone that bled through every sentence. “Hey, Fordy,” Owen started, voice catching. “It’s good to see you. I’ve really missed you the last couple of weeks. But then I don’t suppose you knew that, because I didn’t tell you.” Tears began to prick at the corners of Ben’s eyes in response to Owen’s flat, miserable tone.

“I guess we could both work on our communication. Like – you’re basically my best friend, and I don’t know what I’d do without you, even when we don’t talk for weeks at a time.” There was a pause. “So I know you can’t promise not to do this again, but can you tell me if you’re ever thinking about it again? George, I need you. I promise, it will get better. So, just – hold on, mate. I love you.”

Ben heard footsteps approaching him and Jonny. He turned round to see Owen walking towards them, rubbing at his eyes. “You okay?” he asked, extending a hand.  
“A bit better, yeah,” Owen said with a weak smile. “Taking what I can get at this point.” With an arm still wrapped around Jonny’s shoulders, Ben led them out of the ICU to the waiting room. Owen’s final, lingering glance towards his friend made Ben’s heart clench. Sometimes people doubted the strength of their friendship, given the distance and the competition between the two men, but in this moment Ben knew the bond was as strong as ever.

The Fords were settled into their usual positions by the time Ben emerged with Jonny and Owen from the ICU. Mike and Sally-Anne had assumed the same silent, static postures as before, and Ben didn’t envy their sons in trying to interact with them. Seeing them approach, Joe stood up and took them off to one side. “I don’t know what you three want to do, but I’m going home for the night in a few hours and taking Jacob with me. Mum and Dad are staying until the morning and we’ll see what happens then.”

Ben looked at his friends. “My wife’s saved me some dinner, so if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to head back too. Obviously, Faz can stay with us – if he wants.” He directed the last part towards Owen, who nodded, eyes still fixed on the floor. With a last round of hugs, the two groups separated. Ben didn’t envy the Fords their waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this last year to try and get myself out of a slump, so George's experience is partly inspired by that rough time. Also - this is the longest thing I've ever written, so apologies if it feels a little rushed. After a certain point I was just fed up with it and ready to post (although it is all done now).  
Updates will be posted every Friday.


	2. Chapter 2

A rhythmic, urgent beeping. A flash of light as George forced open his eyes, then squeezed them shut again. Why was his alarm clock going off when the lights were still on? Bracing himself, he slowly peeled them open and looked around. There was no alarm clock.

What there was, was a white room filled with beds, with people in them. He looked down. He was in a bed too, with grey blankets. The blankets were covered with tubes, which linked up to his arms. His eyes traced one of the wires back to a black machine – why was everything monochrome? – which seemed to be making the beeping noise.

A striking red caught his eye and he slowly, painfully, twisted his head to look closer. One of the beds opposite had someone in with a bright red line up their face, and bandages everywhere else. He flinched and tried to recoil, but was stopped by yet another tube.

He glanced down. Suddenly, he was aware of its presence in his mouth and his throat, taking up vital space in his airway. The beeping increased to an extended squeal and he looked around in panic.

A woman appeared from seemingly out of the blue and smiled at him. “Don’t worry, Mr Ford. It’s a ventilator – it helps you to breathe.” George tried to ask a question but couldn’t get his lips to move around the tube. Only a muffled grunt came out. “I’m Grace, one of the nurses in the ICU. You’re in Leicester Royal Infirmary.”

Dimly, he heard the beeping slowing down. There was a heavy thudding in his ears, and the room seemed to be getting greyer. He blinked at her, trying to make her understand what was happening, but Grace didn’t notice. The grey deepened to black and everything went quiet.

***

It was late morning on the next day when something finally changed for the anxious huddle outside the ICU. Dr Thomas came bustling out of the double doors towards them, holding a clipboard. Mike stood up and offered him a handshake and a strained smile, while everyone else eyed him warily.

“Good morning, everyone,” the doctor said cheerily. “I know it’s not the official time for an update, but we thought it necessary to keep you up to date with George’s condition.” Ben could tell from the doctor’s smile that it wasn’t bad news, so allowed himself to relax. Jonny, on the other hand, was twitching and tapping his feet.

“George regained consciousness for approximately a minute earlier this morning, which is excellent news for his long-term recovery.” Ben kicked Jonny’s leg and grinned, while Owen let out a long breath. “Because of the ventilator, he was unable to speak, but the nurse who saw him says that he appeared to understand what she said to him before he lost consciousness again.”

Mike sat forward. “Can we talk to him next time?”  
The doctor shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Mr Ford. Firstly, we don’t know when or for how long it will happen again, so it would not be practical. Secondly, the sudden presence of a large number of family and friends could alarm him when he is undoubtedly already in a fragile mental state. And finally, it is hospital procedure in cases of this kind to allow the patient to speak with a psychiatrist to establish understanding of the situation before anybody else can communicate with them.” Ben felt the nerves in his stomach diminish. Not only would George’s mental health be prioritised, but Mike’s focus on rugby could be curtailed for the benefit of them all.

“So what happens next?” Mike demanded. Dr Thomas was doing a good job of maintaining eye contact under the coach’s intensity, Ben reflected. “We sit here and wait for him to wake up, and then someone is going to talk to him, and then we – _his actual family_ – might get a chance to see him if everything goes well?”

The doctor sighed and pulled up a chair. “Before that can happen, I’m afraid we need to try and understand what led to this outcome. At the moment, George is away from all external triggers that could provoke a mental downturn. It is possible that a family presence could remind him of something which could worsen his condition. I promise you,” he said, looking around the group, “I want what is best for George, just like you.”

Mike didn’t seem pacified by his words, but the rest of the group nodded understandingly. “So we might get to see him later today,” Joe asked, “but maybe not? I understand it’s dependent on his condition, but could you say how likely you think it is?”  
The doctor rubbed his chin. “I would say by this evening is likely, but definitely by this time tomorrow. We’ll keep you updated, of course.”

He stood to leave, and Ben quickly followed him to the doors of the ward. “Excuse me, doctor, um, I just wanted to let you know ...” Ben glanced behind him towards the cluster of rugby players. “We – Jonny, Joe, and I – think it’s pretty likely that rugby had something to do with it. And Mike won’t really help in this situation, even if he wasn’t so connected with the sport.”

Dr Thomas smiled and laid a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Thank you, Ben. I appreciate you coming to tell me that. We can’t bar Mr Ford from entering the ICU, but some of my colleagues will come out to brief you before anyone is allowed in to speak to George. That means we can suggest some topics which might be best avoided for the time being, and therefore hopefully manage the conversation.”  
Ben nodded, a small smile on his face. “That’s great. Thank you so much.”

Having returned to his place in the group, he pulled out his phone. _G woke up for a few minutes earlier – dr says maybe we can visit today or tomorrow! How’s it going with you? xxx _he texted to Charlotte, throwing in a smiley emoji for good measure. Owen leaned over and nudged him. “That the wife you’re texting?” he asked quietly.  
“Yeah,” Ben replied, “just keeping her updated. She’s got the kids at the moment, so they’re having fun looking after Bailee.”  
Owen smiled wanly. “That’s good.”  
Ben knocked their knees together to break the silence. “What’s on your mind, mate?”

Owen huffed out a sigh before answering. “I don’t know, I’m just – having a bit of a crisis of confidence. Like, is there any point in winning trophies and going on international tours when you can’t be there for your best friend who tried to kill himself?” He rubbed at his eyes. “Sorry, that sounded really melodramatic. I’m being stupid, ignore me.”

Ben looped an arm around his shoulders. “Hey, no. That’s a legitimate worry and I think we’re all trying to work out how we let this happen. But you shouldn’t blame yourself. Everyone has stuff going on, so it can be hard to keep tabs on everybody at the same time.” He tipped his head onto Owen’s shoulder. “I don’t know, pretend it’s like a match or something. It went wrong, but you can’t change what’s already happened: you have to move on and work to get better.”  
The flyhalf laughed. “Okay, Ben. I’ll try my best.”

Ben’s phone buzzed with a reply from his wife. _That’s great news! Remember to look after yourselves and keep talking xxx _she had texted. He smiled and typed back _Will do :) Connie and Kobe are coming in soon so that will occupy us. See you later xxx._

Somehow, he now felt more and less nervous. George was almost conscious again, which was fantastic news after the trauma of the previous night. But at the same time, George was almost conscious, which meant that the process would shift from being grateful for his survival to interrogating the reasons behind the attempt.

Yes, it was good that the existential threat seemed to have passed for the moment, but Ben wasn’t ready to dive back into the pain of that night and its causes. Just thinking about George lying on the floor, Bailee looking up at him, made his stomach churn and a shakiness spread along his limbs.

Later that afternoon, after Connie and Kobe had arrived and George’s parents had left, Grace the nurse came out of the ICU with a smile on her face. “Hello, everyone,” she said, patting Kobe on the head. “As you’ve probably guessed, George has regained consciousness for the second time. He’s been awake for about twenty minutes now, so Dr Thomas thinks a visit by a few people would be appropriate once our psychiatrist has finished her initial assessment.”

Ben grinned at Owen, while Jonny elbowed both of them from where he was sat on the floor. “We would suggest a limit of two or three visitors for the moment, given how fragile his mental state is. Overwhelming the patient is the last thing we want to be doing.”  
Taking on the role of authority after Mike’s departure, Joe said, “Thank you so much, Grace. Is it okay if we discuss for a minute who will visit first?”  
She nodded. “Absolutely. I’ll come back in five minutes to take you in.”

The anxiety that Ben had felt earlier seemed to return fivefold, and he could see his emotions mirrored on the other faces in the circle. Now there was a distinct possibility of talking to George in the next few minutes, he was terrified. He didn’t want to have to tell George how he found him, slumped on the kitchen floor, in the middle of the night. He didn’t want to. He couldn’t. Not now.

“Okay,” Joe said, looking around at the group. “Two or three at first. Does anyone have any thoughts?” Ben gritted his teeth. This was so much worse than deciding who to tell in the first place; nobody wanted to monopolise George’s time, but no one wanted to act like they didn’t care. Maybe Mike’s bullish attitude was useful after all. “I would have said Mum and Dad, but obviously they aren’t here at the moment.”

Owen cleared his throat. “I reckon you, Jacob, and Ben. You two are his brothers, and Ben found him. It makes sense to me.”  
Without knowing it, Ben was shaking his head. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t – not yet. Just Joe and Jacob.”  
Joe shrugged and took Ben’s hand. “If you’re sure, Ben ...” The scrumhalf bit his lip in a futile effort to stop his tears spilling over on to his face. “Then Jacob and I will visit for now, and we can reassess later?” The rest of the circle nodded.

While Joe and Jacob were in the ICU, Ben couldn’t sit still. The memories of the phone screen, those two texts, pulling up at the house with all the windows filled with light as George’s life slowly ebbed away – they swirled around his head and vibrated through his body until he found himself swaying backwards and forwards on the chair, head clutched in his hands.

Something touched his shoulder and he jerked upright. “Hey, hey,” Jonny said, holding up his hands. “Do you want to go for a walk?” Ben nodded wordlessly, lurching to his feet. Jonny led the way out of the waiting room, murmuring a few words to Connie as he passed.

Ben focused on the up and down motion of Jonny’s trainers as they paced through the corridors of the hospital. Then they stopped, and Ben bumped into his friend. Jonny turned around and took Ben by the hand. “I thought going outside might do you some good, so we can go into the garden if you want?” Ben shrugged, his head spinning. The two men walked into a small courtyard filled with grass and potted plants, with a rectangle of sky just visible above them.

Jonny tugged Ben down on to a bench and pulled him into his chest. “Ben, I want you to know that you’ve been so strong for all of us in the last few days, and I really appreciate that. And it’s okay if now you need us to help you, okay?” Ben dropped his head but didn’t speak. “And – of course you and me and Faz have been trying to put the family first, but we’re here for a reason, because we’re his friends.”

Ben ran a hand through his hair and said hoarsely, “I can’t get it out of my head. George, just lying there, Bailee whimpering, and he looked so _grey_.” Jonny stroked his back soothingly. “And the worst thing is – it could be so much worse. We’re going to see him soon, but how can I believe that I won’t have to find him again? Only next time, we won’t be so lucky and there won’t be a pulse.” He started sobbing into Jonny’s chest, aware that he was soaking the shirt but unable to stop.

“Look, I’m not going to pretend that I know what to say, or that anything I say will help,” Jonny said quietly. “I was texting Sophie earlier, because she’s good at emotions, and she said that you just have to feel it and let it pass through you. You can be sad, or angry, or scared, and that’s all fine.”

Ben hiccupped a laugh through his sobs. “Yeah, my wife said we all just need to keep talking to each other and being honest.”  
“I know! It’s almost as if what they’re saying makes sense,” Jonny said, chuckling damply. “So anyway,” he continued soberly, “this is me talking to you. You supported me when I was having a crisis in the ward yesterday, hmm? Will you let me do the same for you now?”  
Ben pulled himself up and blinked away his tears. “Yes, Jonny. Yeah, I will.”

“So, what do you need?” Jonny asked, a trace of his usual chirpiness filtering into his voice. “I can offer hugs, advice that I pretend is my own but I get from the Internet, or food from the vending machine.”  
Ben smiled, some of the jitteriness subsiding. “I could do with some chocolate, as long as Mike doesn’t see. And maybe a hug later? You’re good at those,” he added, looking at the floor.  
“Alright, old man,” Jonny said, standing up and ruffling Ben’s hair. “I’ll rustle something up for you, if you go back and find Faz. He was on the phone to Georgie, last I knew.” Ben slapped his friend on the back, spirits mostly restored, and headed to the waiting room.

When he arrived, Jacob was sat with Connie, Kobe, and Owen, but Joe was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s Joe gone?” he asked, dropping into a chair.  
Jacob tipped his head towards the door, wiping his eyes. “He’s gone to phone Dad.”  
“I think he wanted some privacy as well,” Connie said, cuddling her son to her. “I don’t know if he actually understood how George would be feeling right now.”

“How was it – if you don’t mind me asking?” Ben asked, looking at Jacob.  
The younger man picked at a loose thread on his jeans. “It was pretty rough. G is kind of embarrassed about everything, but I got the vibe that he just really doesn’t want to be here – or anywhere – right now. Joe was expecting it to be this touching reunion where it would be sunshine and rainbows.” He sighed. “I thought it would be like – like it was, but you always have to hope for the best.”

Connie squeezed his hand. There wasn’t much to be said at a time like this.

Grace didn’t come back until just before visiting hours that evening. Ben had gone home briefly to see Boris and Billie, while Jonny and Owen were on a food run for those that were staying the night. “Good evening, everyone,” she said, making eye contact with each person in the circle: Mike, Sally-Anne, Jacob, Joe, and Ben looked intently back at her. “Because visiting hours are starting soon and George is currently awake, we thought it would be best if George’s parents could come and have a quick chat with the psychiatrist before they go in.”

Mike nodded firmly. “After that, of course you can all visit at your own discretion – we want to ensure that the extent of George’s mental illness is understood.” The two parents stood up and followed Grace out of the waiting room. Mike’s stride seemed as purposeful as ever, while Sally-Anne looked more hesitant.

Once again, there was nothing to do but wait. The tense cast of faces rotated slightly; Jonny and Owen returned, and Jacob went home. Ben couldn’t tell if it was familiarity that was making him more comfortable in the alien surroundings of the sterile hospital, but he didn’t feel as on edge as previously. An omnipresent buzz of nerves settled under his skin, but it was nothing compared to his initial panic on arriving in the ambulance.

***

George looked up as the ICU door swung open yet again. Probably visitors for the poor lad across from him; some sort of car accident, from what the doctors had been saying. He didn’t have long left, given the crowd of nurses around the bed. And then there was him, taking up space as usual and making mountains out of molehills. _Couldn’t even do this right_, the voice in his head whispered menacingly.

Someone touched his hand and he jerked back. His eyes refocused. “Georgie,” his mother breathed, covering her mouth. “Oh, darling.” Tears were welling up in her eyes and he couldn’t find it in him to comfort her. The illusion of a perfect family life had already been shattered; what more damage could this do?

“Aren’t you going to say hello to your mother, George?” Mike asked curtly, standing with a proprietary hand on his wife’s back. “After all this – it’s the least you can do.”  
A wave of dislike crested in his stomach and he pulled his lips into a contorted smile. “Hello, Mum. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

Sally-Anne clutched at his hands, pressing them to her chest. “Don’t be sorry, Georgie. Be glad. It could be so much worse.” Her voice quivered.  
“I can’t see how,” Mike scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. “That psychiatrist woman thinks everything’s making you stressed-” he made air quotes around the words- “so maybe it would have been easier for everyone if it had happened.”

Sally-Anne burst into tears, and shame made itself known in his gut for the first time. This was what he had been trying to avoid – a long, painful going-over of his problems that could only hurt his family. Mike knew that. They all knew that. George was the perfect child, who never made any trouble, who always dealt with things alone. That was how it always had been, and how it should have stayed.

“I’m sorry, Mum,” he repeated dully.

Mike raised his eyebrows behind Sally-Anne’s back and slowly shook his head. “Sorry isn’t good enough, George. I don’t know how you’re going to make up for this, but it had better be good.” George flinched and Mike stepped away. “Come on, dear. I can tell being here is only upsetting you.”

He tugged his wife’s hands away from their son. “We might come back tomorrow,” Mike said finally. “It depends. I need to prep for Germany.”  
“Goodbye, Georgie,” Sally-Anne said, wet-faced. “See you soon.”  
“Bye,” George murmured. Mike walked out of the ward, his wife trailing behind.

He buried his face in his hands. Usually, when he took a risk, it would pay off. But in this instance – it wasn’t worth it. Of course, his dad would seize the opportunity to be even more domineering than usual. Of course, the family would suffer. He could only hope Joe was protecting Jacob from it, as he’d abdicated his own responsibility.

He flopped back onto his pillow, suddenly listless once more. It was all his fault, and there was nothing he could do about it. He didn’t know how many more of those visits he could take.

***

An eternity of a few minutes later, the Ford parents came back into the waiting room. Sally-Anne’s face was pale; if anything, Mike had become redder, with a vein pulsing in his forehead. “I suppose you all want to know what’s wrong with him,” Mike said abruptly as he sat down. “You’d be in luck, because the psychiatrist gave me a whole laundry list of complaints.” Sally-Anne laid a calming hand on her husband’s arm. He brushed it aside. Ben exchanged looks with Owen and Jonny. This couldn’t end well.

“So, top of the list: Jess and their break-up. Then rugby – pressure, fear of underperforming, too much competition, and his shoulder still hurting from that operation years ago.” He stared at the ceiling. “Oh, and general anxiety and OCD. I always said it was strange for a boy to be that clean.”  
Sally-Anne gave a tight-lipped smile. “I think what you’re trying to say, dear, is that poor George has had a lot on his plate for a long time, and it’s all come to a head recently.”

Ben looked at her with sympathy in his eyes. It couldn’t be easy to have a son who attempted suicide, but then having to deal with an emotionally repressed husband as well must be awful. “Did they say anything else about treatment, or how we can help?” he asked, careful to direct his question at Sally-Anne instead of Mike.  
She smiled at him gratefully. “At this point, we should be trying to be there for him and not push anything too hard. In the next few days, his team will finalise their plan for his recovery.”

Ben started to reply, but Mike barked out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, and step one of that masterplan will be quitting rugby. If you can’t take the heat and all that.” Ben dug his fingers into his thigh. He could feel Owen’s rigidness next to him and willed him not to take the bait.  
“Darling, perhaps it would be better for you to go for a walk for a moment to clear your head. Reset your priorities, maybe.” Sally-Anne pulled at her husband, mouthing a ‘sorry’ to the group as they walked away.

Ben immediately turned to Owen, who was holding his head in his hands. “You alright, mate? I know it’s tough to hear that kind of thing.”  
When Owen spoke, his voice was muffled. “It’s not just tough, it’s – fuck. I knew this stuff was going on for him. He told me, so many times, that his shoulder hurt, or that he was terrified about going to England training camps, or that he was worried about Tigers. But he wouldn’t let me tell anyone else, because he didn’t know what the outcome would be.” Ben winced.

Jonny started rubbing comforting circles on Owen’s back. “Yeah, mate,” he started, “look, we know what you mean. Only he didn’t tell us – we were there, every day, and we didn’t see the signs, or realise where they were pointing.”  
The collective hush was broken only by Grace’s return. “Does anyone want to visit now?” she asked.

“You three can go,” Joe said, gesturing at Ben, Jonny, and Owen. “Everyone else has already been.”  
Ben nodded his gratitude and stood up. Mindful of Jonny’s reaction the last time they visited the ICU, he kept a hand pressed to the small of his friend’s back. Be supportive and supported, he repeated to himself. Be kind. Be considerate and compassionate. Be there for George.

Time seemed to slow down as they entered the ward. Ben could feel each breath passing through his body as he saw George – his open eyes – the colour in his skin – the life, however reluctant, in his veins. “Uh, hey,” he said stupidly. The three of them were stood at the foot of the bed like the three wise men visiting Jesus, some small part of his brain reflected.  
“Hi,” George replied. His voice was subdued, but it could have been a chorus of angels as far as Ben was concerned. It was almost better than hearing his kids’ first words.

The silence dragged on as they all searched for something to say. “Um, mate,” Jonny said cautiously, with an uncertain smile, “just to let you know – you’re a real prat, yeah?”  
George lifted his eyes to look at them for the first time. “I know, Jonny. Trust me, I know.” His tone was utterly flat.

“Okay, G,” Owen said, moving up to the head of the bed. “I suppose it’s my turn to talk.” There was no reply. “I don’t know how you feel right now, but I’m really happy that you’re still here. And maybe I didn’t tell you enough before, but I want you to know now.”  
“Thanks, mate,” George said with a flicker of a smile.  
“Dammit,” Jonny stage-whispered, “why couldn’t I have said something good like that?”  
“It’s a captain thing, mate; you wouldn’t know,” Owen said, smirking half-heartedly.

“I’m sorry about all this,” George said, apropos of nothing. He stared at his hands, twisted in the white bedsheets. “I didn’t plan for this. I thought it would be over with quickly. I didn’t want to drag everyone into it and make a fuss.”

Ben felt his heart break. “Fordy, I don’t know what stupid voice in that head of yours you’ve been listening to, but the whole point of friendship – last time I checked – was that you told people things. Like Tom and Tiff. You tell people things, and they help you.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “I can’t speak for the other two, but I’d much rather you’d told me and we’d worked through it together than being here right now.”  
George seemed to curl in on himself. “To be fair,” Owen interrupted, “you did try to tell me stuff, but I didn’t take it seriously enough, and I’m sorry. I heard what you were saying and didn’t consider how it was all piling up.”

Jonny bit his lip. “I think we all know I don’t have much to add to this conversation, but – can I have a hug?” The tentative smile returned to George’s face and he nodded, stretching out his arms. The two men hugged each other tightly and Ben could see the tears on Owen’s face mirroring his own. When Jonny stood up, his eyes were glistening.

“You ready to go?” Ben asked, taking his outstretched hand. Jonny nodded. “Right then. I guess we’ll see you tomorrow, Fordy, or when they next let us in.” George flicked his eyes up to them in acknowledgement. As Ben and Jonny turned back to the door, Owen caught him by the arm. “I’m going to stay here for a bit longer,” he said lowly. “I’ve got some stuff I need to say.” Ben nodded and continued his path towards the door.

The next morning, Ben arrived in the ICU waiting room as usual – he hated that it had become usual – to find that none of the other members of the group were there. He knew that Joe and Connie at least had planned to be there, but he couldn’t work out where everyone was. He walked up to the main desk, no small amount of panic swirling around his brain.

“Hi,” he said to the receptionist, smiling around clenched teeth. “Could you possibly tell me where George Ford is? He was in the ICU when I left yesterday, but now I can’t find any of his family or friends.”  
The receptionist returned his smile. “You’re Ben, yes? Mr May – Jonny – left a message that you should text him and he will come and find you. Mr Ford was moved to an acute ward earlier this morning, but we have several in different wings of the hospital, so it would be easier to wait for your friend.”

“Okay, thank you,” Ben said, taking out his phone and texting Jonny. _I’m at the ICU reception desk – come and get me! _Jonny replied almost instantly. _There in a minute :P _Ben put his phone away and waited, gazing around the waiting room for what would (hopefully) be the last time. Now he was leaving, it didn’t seem quite as menacing.

Jonny bounded around the corner with a broad grin on his face. “You’re perky today,” Ben remarked.  
“Yeah, well – it’s not every day your friend gets moved out of the ICU!”  
Ben followed Jonny out into the corridor, flashing a final smile at the receptionist. “This new ward – what’s it for, exactly?”

“Erm ...” Jonny laughed. “It’s something about further observation and assessment, but it’s for people who don’t need intensive care anymore. So Fordy gets his mental stuff there, but not as much physical because he’s mostly recovered from that – thank God.”  
“And are the visiting hours the same?” Ben huffed out as he traipsed after Jonny. Sometimes it was handy having the fastest winger in the country as a friend, but his Duracell bunny tendencies were exhausting after yet another restless night.  
“I’m not sure, but I think it’s twice a day? Because the risk of infection isn’t as high, or something.”  
“Okay, thanks. I know your knowledge of biology is about as bad as mine, so let’s not pretend otherwise.”

They came to a stop outside a door, not a moment too soon in Ben’s estimation. “Welcome,” Jonny said grandly, throwing out an arm, “to our new waiting room!” He opened the door and went inside. “It’s for all the wards between 25 and 30, and Fordy’s in 27, so we get all the advantages of its central position right next to the toilets.”  
Owen stood up and gave Ben a hug. “Hey, mate,” he said. “Jonny giving you the tour on our new home?”  
“Yeah,” Ben joked, “estate agent’s going to be a great career for him once he retires.”

They all laughed – apart from Jonny, who looked rather indignant – and sat down. “So how is everything?” Ben asked. Mike and Sally-Anne were the only absences, and he couldn’t say that he was sorry for it.  
Joe leaned forward, Kobe nestled into his lap. “So far, so good. Physically, he looks on track to make a full recovery, hence the move to this ward. Mentally – they’re doing more assessments today, so we’ll know the plan moving forwards by this evening.”  
Ben grinned. “That’s great news. Has anyone seen him yet today?”  
“Joe and I went in with Kobe earlier,” Connie said, smiling. “George seemed happy to see the little man, if nothing else.”

“Do we have any idea what the long-term plan might look like?” Ben asked, tugging at his collar. “I know it isn’t the priority at the moment, but the World Cup is next year. He can’t afford to miss too much time.” Noticing Joe’s pinched mouth, he quickly backtracked. “I don’t mean it like that, mate. Just – what if he does come back to Tigers in a few months, or after Christmas, and then wants to make the World Cup squad? I can’t imagine that he would be able to, short of a miracle.”  
Joe shrugged with a sigh. “We have to cross that bridge if and when we come to it. Until then, I’m not going to put any pressure on him to play again by a certain date.”  
Ben looked at the ceiling, trying not to let his frustration bleed through into his voice. “And I agree with you on that. I’m just trying to consider all the options.” The conversation lapsed into an uneasy silence.

The visits into the new ward were excruciating, to say the least. George was clearly making an effort to act ‘normal’, contributing to conversation and even laughing quietly. But then his eyes would wander, or his head would drop, and everyone around the bed would go silent too. Somehow, they all knew that they were treading water, just waiting for a plan, for concrete steps to be acted upon.

It wasn’t that Ben didn’t want to help George. It was just that it was so awkward trying to make conversation when their friendship (and consequently all topics of conversation) was based on rugby, with few other common areas. Even the OCD jokes weren’t funny anymore – although, on reflection, Ben could admit that they probably weren’t ever a source of amusement, especially for George.

The hours ticked by, and finally a new nurse emerged from the ward with several sheets of paper attached to a clipboard. A ripple of excitement passed through the group: there was nothing a group of rugby players liked more than a game plan. “Good evening, everyone,” the nurse said, shaking each person’s hand. “I’m Matt, for those of you who weren’t here earlier, and I’ve taken over from Grace as George’s main carer.” Ben smiled tightly. _Get on with it, man, _he thought. “Basically, my role in this little meeting is to talk you through the mid-term care plan we’ve drawn up together with George and his psychiatrists.”

He handed the sheaf of paper around, and Ben scanned through the contents eagerly. Ongoing appointments with the psychiatrist – managing expectations – importance of physical fitness for the patient – gradual return to rugby – living arrangements – antidepressants. He nodded, tapping the paper against his knee and feeling the tension drain from his body. It seemed pretty comprehensive to him. “Sorry, Matt,” Joe said, “but could you clarify where he’s going to live? Not by himself, obviously.”

The nurse ducked his head in apology. “We discussed it with his parents this morning, and his mother suggested that she move in with him for the time being. Mike has his new job in Germany so won’t be around most of the time, which will reduce that particular stressor. We all agreed that he needs to stay in the city to keep in contact with his social circles, so he couldn’t go to Mike and Sally-Anne’s house in Saddleworth.”  
Joe nodded, appeased.

“Do we have an approach to telling Tigers when preseason starts? It’s only in a few days, and we can’t leave the team out of the loop.” Jonny chewed on his lip as he asked the question.  
Ben jumped in before Matt could answer. “Mike told Geordan when we rang you and Faz, so at least the senior coaches know.”  
“Yes, but the actual players-” Jonny said, furrowing his brow.

“I won’t pretend to know how your team works,” Matt said, raising his hands in a pacifying gesture, “but there must be some way of contacting one person who can pass it on? That would reduce the emotional labour for you.”  
“My brother’s club captain,” Ben said sheepishly, “so I could just tell him – although Geordan probably told him already and he’s just being nice to me by not bringing it up.”  
“I’d like to do it well before we all get into the locker room for training, if you wouldn’t mind,” Joe said, rubbing at his eyes. “I don’t want to deal with their immediate reactions, you know?”

“Of course,” Ben said hastily. How was it possible to put your foot in your mouth so many times in a short conversation? “Would you prefer to let Tom handle it or give him something a bit more structured to work with? I know he’d be sensitive, but it’s down to you, mate.”

Joe squeezed his son to his chest before replying in a subdued tone. “I don’t know. I trust Tom to be good about it. At the same time, I’m not sure how some of the lads will take it, especially the younger ones, so a message giving them the facts might be easier for Tom to use and then he only has to do the clean-up afterwards.”  
Ben nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll text him now, just as a heads up, and then everyone can be on the same page by the time preseason actually starts.”  
“Okay. I can do a paragraph this evening, and send it over?” Ben nodded, typing out a message to his brother.

“Right,” Matt said decisively, “is that all the questions for now?” When nobody responded, he continued. “My shift ends at eight pm, but if you have any other questions before then, I’m very happy to answer them – you can find me in the ward, or in the general area.” He said his farewells and left the waiting room. Ben stared down at his sheet. It all seemed so simple, laid out in black and white, but something in his gut was telling him there was no way it would turn out like they’d planned.

Later that night, Ben’s phone pinged with an email from Joe. _Connie and I’ve written a thing, _it read, _and shown it to George and Mum and Dad. They seem fine with it. If you want to make any changes, please do. Thanks for everything. _Fingers shaking suddenly, he clicked to open the attachment.

_George attempted suicide on Thursday night. He is currently conscious and in Leicester Royal Infirmary receiving treatment. The doctors say there will be no long-term physical effects, but he will soon be going back home to work on his mental health.  
He will not be taking part in preseason, and it has not yet been decided when he will return to rugby, if at all. Please respect his and his family’s privacy at this difficult time._

Ben’s eyes were watering. The detached message didn’t get across the horror of the kitchen, the waiting room, the ICU, but maybe that was for the best. The team didn’t need to know all the gory details. George was a private person, so it was probably right that they didn’t have a blow-by-blow account of events. Slowly, carefully, he typed, _If you have any questions, please direct them to Ben Youngs. _He slumped back in his chair and copied the statement into his chat with Tom. He hit send, and then called his brother.

“Hey, Lenny,” Tom said, yawning down the line. “How’s it going?”  
“Fine, fine,” Ben answered on autopilot, then stopped himself. “Well, not fine, if I’m honest.”  
“And that’s absolutely okay,” said Tom in his best comforting captain/big brother voice. “Now, what do you want to talk about?”  
“We – that is, me and the Fords – were thinking about how we’d break the news to the rest of the team, and we thought it would be best if you could chat to them. Joe’s written a message that you can give to them, but you can do what you want aside from that, I guess.”  
Tom sighed. “Okay. There isn’t much time left before preseason starts, but I’ll get going on that in the morning.”

“Thanks, Tommy, I really appreciate it,” Ben replied, picking at a loose thread on his shorts. “And I just – it does get better, doesn’t it?” he said with a pleading edge to his voice. “Like, physically, he’s almost back to normal, but mentally he’s really struggling, and I don’t know how to deal with that. How did you – with Tiff – y’know?”

Tom’s voice seemed wetter when he spoke again. “I don’t think I really have, mate. You need to keep putting one foot in front of the other, and one day you’ll look up and you’ll be months away from where you started. I really don’t know.”  
Ben sniffed. “So I just persevere and keep going?”

“Yes. And make sure you’re talking to people – George, Jonny, Faz, and especially Charlotte. In this kind of situation, everyone needs as much help as they can find.”  
Ben drew his knees up to his chest, hunching over. “Okay. Thanks, Tom. I’ll try.”  
“I’ll see you soon, Len. Keep your head up.” Tom ended the call, leaving Ben curled up on a chair, misery aching through his body.

“Hey, Ben,” Charlotte said as she walked into the room. Noticing his crumpled face, she sat on the arm of the chair and rubbed a hand up and down his back. “What’s up, babe?” He shook his head, still clutching at his legs. “You can talk if you want – the kids are in bed so I’m right here with you.”  
Ben nestled his head into her arms. “I hate this. I hate this so much.” Charlotte hummed softly in response, stroking his hair. “My best friend – who probably thought I hated him – attempted suicide, and now we’re all here trying to pick up the pieces at the same time as preparing for the new season.” His wife still didn’t reply, letting him continue his hiccupping rant. “I know it’s not anyone’s fault in particular, but I’m angry that it happened and angry with myself that I’m angry.”  
“It’s okay that you feel angry, baby,” she crooned, as if she was talking to Boris instead of her husband. “That’s perfectly normal, and it’s healthier to feel it than repress it.”

“But I can’t see a way out,” he protested. “Every time I stop being angry, something else happens to make me feel it again – or I’m just really sad.”  
“Well,” Charlotte said tentatively, “maybe you could think about talking to someone, the same way as George?” Ben started to shake his head, but she ploughed on. “There’s nothing wrong with asking for help, and you’ve been through a lot too. Maybe even one of the Tigers people – like Tom did last year.”

“Tom did?” Ben asked in surprise, pulling back to look his wife in the eyes.  
“Yes, Ben,” she said softly, a thread of pity in her voice. “Tiffany told me how he would wake up crying in the middle of the night and sometimes he couldn’t stop for an hour. It helped him, and I think it would help you.”  
Ben pushed down his objections. “If you’re sure...”  
“It can’t hurt, Ben. And I know the kids would like to see their father happy again.”  
He shrugged. “Alright. I’ll email the coaches tomorrow to set something up.”  
She kissed him. “Thank you, babe. Remember – it will be good for you.”

The next morning, Ben was back in the waiting room, biding his time until visiting hours began. “What’s that you’re doing?” Jonny chirped, sitting down next to him and looking at Ben’s phone.  
“Uh – nothing?” Ben said, scratching the back of his neck. He didn’t want to tell Jonny that he was asking for mental help from the club. Given the circumstances, maybe it would have been fine, but they were still rugby players.

“Really?” Jonny asked, pouncing on his questioning tone. “It’s not something _weird_, is it?” He assumed an almost Victorian tone. “Because I must remind you, young man, that we are in a hospital and there’s no funny business allowed here.”  
Ben smiled half-heartedly. “No, it’s nothing weird. Something private, that’s all.”  
“Oh _really_?” Jonny said, wiggling his eyebrows. “Private, is it?”

Ben huffed. He might be an excellent winger, but sometimes Jonny was incredibly bad at knowing where the lines were. “Yes, Jonny. If you must know-” he steeled his nerves- “I’m arranging an appointment with the Tigers counsellor. To talk. About my feelings.”  
To his credit, Jonny looked more embarrassed than smug at finding out the ‘secret’. “Oh. Sorry, mate. I thought it was actually something dodgy.”  
“Clearly,” Ben said, not looking up from his phone.  
“Like, there’s nothing wrong with asking for help. It’s good!”

“I know,” Ben said. He was aware. Tom had done it, so there was no shame in needing to talk. He knew that.  
“D’you think I should?” Jonny asked, wringing his hands. “I don’t think I have any issues, but then how can I know?”  
Ben bit back a laugh and schooled his face into a (hopefully) more considerate expression. “It can be good to talk about things, even if there aren’t any immediate problems. If you want to, you should go for it.”  
Jonny beamed. “Okay, mate. I’ll get right on it!”

Ben was George’s fifth visitor that morning, and he could tell that the constant attention was starting to grate. His friend was grunting out affirmative noises to his statements through gritted teeth, an arm flung across his face. “Look, mate,” Ben said, trying not to sound too annoyed, “I can go if you want.”

“No,” George muttered, “it’s not you. I’ve got a fucking headache.”  
“Couldn’t they give you some painkillers for that?” Ben asked, looking around for a nurse.  
“No,” George repeated. “I’ve already had some, and any more could damage my organs because they’ve already been overloaded. Painkillers are what’s causing it, so I can’t have too many more.”

Ben winced. “I’m sorry. That sucks.” George rolled over in the bed, back facing Ben. “Um ... Oh! I do have some news.” Another grunt. “I’m going to see one of the counsellors at Tigers in a few days, to see if it would help me.” He twisted his fingers together. “Would you recommend it?” he asked tentatively. Surely George could summon an opinion about this of all things.

“I mean, it doesn’t hurt,” George mumbled. “You have to talk about stuff you’d rather leave buried, but apparently it helps in the long run. I just haven’t got to that point yet.”  
“Okay,” Ben said, trying to inject more energy into the conversation. “That’s good.”

There was no reply, and frustration was rising in Ben’s throat. “I can leave, George,” he said, stronger now.  
George huffed and turned back to him. “I want to see you, Ben – I just hate you seeing me like this. It’s embarrassing and it’s humiliating.”  
“Not to be rude but ...” Ben searched for a way to phrase his statement delicately. “Wouldn’t it help your recovery to see your friends and people caring about you? We aren’t judging you. We want to see you get better.”

George’s face turned red. “I know that, objectively. But in my head, I’m just a burden and it would be easier for you all to go home and live your lives, and I’ll come back when I’m fixed.” He took a breath, then rushed out, “I’m meant to be perfect – this wasn’t the plan.”  
Ben put his hand on George’s shoulder. “I understand that’s your perspective, but from where I’m sitting – from out there in the waiting room – we’re all so happy to have you still in our lives, in any way that you choose. We want to help you, if you’ll let us.”

George buried his face in the pillow. “You don’t need therapy, Ben,” he said, voice muffled. “You know all the right things to say already.”  
Ben smiled tightly. “I’m trying my best. We all are. Now can I have a hug from my best friend?” George pushed himself upright and held out his arms. “Thanks, mate,” Ben said, choked up, tucking his head into the other man’s neck.

George pulled back, wiping at his eyes. “When does preseason start?” he asked in a trembling voice. “Is everyone going to leave?”  
“It’s in two days,” Ben said softly. “But your parents will still be here, and Jacob, and we’ll all be here in the evenings and at the weekend.”  
George nodded, staring at the wall. “What about Faz?”  
“I think he’s going home, but he should be back up at the weekend with Georgie too.”

“Okay. Has Tom told everyone yet?”  
Ben took George’s hand and squeezed it. “Not yet. He will have done by tomorrow night.”  
“Okay. That’s fine. That’s good.”  
Ben carefully ruffled George’s hair, as if he were putting one of his children to bed, and stood up. “I’m going to go now, okay, mate? I think Jonny wants a chat.”  
“Oh good,” George said with a hint of sarcasm, “my voice will get a rest now.”  
“I’ll see you soon, mate. Love you.”  
“Love you too,” George murmured, a small smile on his face.

The following evening, when Ben entered the ward with Owen in tow, George seemed – if not happier, at least more energised. He was sat up in his bed with a notepad and pen, writing. He looked up and smiled at them. “Alright, Faz, Lenny?”

Ben let Owen take over the conversation, sitting back and enjoying the sight of the two men talking and touching, in spite of the circumstances and the surroundings.

“What’s that you’ve got there, then?” he asked when there was a lull in the conversation, nodding at the paper.  
George glanced at it, placing it face down on the bed. “Some homework from the psychiatrist,” he said, grimacing.  
“About what?” Ben asked. “I mean, if you’re comfortable telling us,” he added as Owen elbowed him in the ribs.

George flashed a grateful look at the other flyhalf. “It’s not that exciting. I’ve got to write a list of things that make me happy, and then another one about stuff that doesn’t.”  
“Ah, right,” Ben said. “Got very far?”  
“See for yourself,” George answered, passing the pad to him.

Ben skimmed the page, then handed it over for Owen to read. “They aren’t very ... long, are they?” he asked tentatively.  
George sighed. “She said that I shouldn’t have too many things on both lists, otherwise there’s no point doing it.”  
“And rugby’s on the ‘unhappy’ list?” Owen said, staring at the paper.  
George looked away. “Yeah. That’s kind of why I – I mean, I really wasn’t enjoying it for the last season at least, and then other shit happened too. And here we are.”

“The whole season?” Ben repeated, mouth hanging open. “George, mate, that’s basically a year! You felt like crap for that long and you didn’t tell anybody?”  
George started to reply, but Owen jumped in. “He did,” he said quietly. “He told me – because I’m not connected to Tigers at all, right, mate?” George nodded and he continued. “If anyone at Leicester realised what was going on, he could have been fired. Unlikely, but possible. And, with rugby families, you’re brought up to play rugby and you don’t get any other skills if you want a different job. There’s no way out when you grew up like we did.”

Ben blinked. “Bloody hell. At least Tom and I know how to farm.”  
George smiled, but his desperate eyes betrayed his real emotions. “My career options from the age of about fourteen have all been to do with rugby. It just made everything worse.” He paused to blow his nose. “Knowing that I had a contract to play until I was thirty, and then probably coach until I was sixty, but hating it when I was twenty-five. I don’t want to be on the same path for decades, but I don’t know how to get away.”

He laughed bitterly. “And it’s not like I could ask my parents, or my brothers, or the club. ‘Sorry, I don’t want to do this anymore. Please help me leave the career which you’ve sacrificed so much for.’” He broke down in tears, and Ben instinctively hugged him. The younger man was shaking against his chest as sobs wracked his body.

Once George had calmed down, Ben sat back. “I’m sorry, mate. I just seem to keep putting my foot in it and upsetting you.”  
“It’s okay. We needed to talk about it. I was never going to get through it without crying anyway.” He rubbed at his eyes, which were red and puffy.  
“Still, though ...” he shook his head. “How about something from the ‘happy’ side? That’ll cheer you up.”

“If you insist,” George said with a weak smile. “Um ... Oh, I don’t know. Faz, can you pick? It’s weird if I get to choose the topic and you two don’t get a say.”  
“Of course, mate,” Owen said shakily, taking the notepad. Ben could tell he was putting on a brave face for his best friend. “Okay, well – I’m genuinely interested to hear what you have to say about this one.”

George groaned softly. “I know which one you’re thinking. Please don’t make me.”  
Owen chuckled. “But Fordy, how else can we cheer you up?”  
George covered his face with his hands, but he couldn’t hide the redness of his ears. “Sorry, lads, I’m a bit in the dark here. What are we talking about?”

“One of very few people to be on the ‘happy’ list, mate,” Owen said, smirking. “The man, the myth, the legend – Francois Louw!”  
Ben looked at George in shock. “Sorry, what? Since when do you still talk to him?”  
George looked at the ceiling as if for assistance, but none was forthcoming. “We talk every few weeks. He was great when I was at Bath, and we decided to keep in touch.”

“But – you’re not even on the same team! He’s older than me!” Ben spluttered. “What do you even talk about?”  
“His kids, the dogs, mutual friends – he’s training to be a financial advisor, which is really cool,” George said, eyes shining. “He’s just a really good guy.”  
“Daddy,” Owen coughed, leaning away from George as he did so.

George pushed at him, blushing. “Piss off. Just because you’re jealous of my actual adult friendship-”  
“Definitely adult,” Owen cut in, sniggering.  
“Shut up, you dick,” George huffed, turning back to Ben. “Anyway, Francois is really nice. Tigers are playing Bath in December, so I can introduce you then if you like.”  
Ben ducked his head. “That would be good. I like meeting people who make you happy.” Owen went to coo but thought better of it after a stern look from George.

“Preseason starts tomorrow, doesn’t it?” George asked, laughter lines smoothing out.  
“Yes,” Owen said levelly. “I’m driving back to London tonight, and then hopefully I’ll be back up at the weekend with Georgie.”  
George nodded and turned to Ben. “And Tigers? Has Tom sorted things now?”  
Ben smiled uneasily. “Everybody knows now.”  
“And?” There was a new tension in George’s voice.

“Look, it’s probably best if you don’t check the team group chat, mate. Some of the guys weren’t being the most considerate, let’s say.” Seeing George biting his lip, he hastily added, “Tom and Dan shut them down quick, but I don’t think you should look, all the same.”  
“Okay,” George said in a small voice. “Are you coming back tomorrow night?”  
“Yeah – is it okay if I bring the kids? They’ve been asking about Uncle George every time I go home. They just want to see that you’re okay.”

“That’s fine by me: just check with the nurses first, I guess.” He chewed at his nails for a moment before jerking his head upright again. “You guys do know that I’m going home on Thursday, right?” Owen nodded placidly.  
“No, I didn’t,” Ben said, holding eye contact. “I don’t mean to be rude, but-”

“Is it safe?” George said, smiling ruefully. “Don’t worry, I won’t be by myself. My mum’s staying with me for the moment. Dad’s going to be in Germany most days anyway with his new job, so it should be okay.”  
“Okay,” Ben said, relaxing. “That’s good. I mean, this ward’s fine, but it’s always nice to be at home.”

***

“Uncle George!”

George looked up, his face splitting into a grin. Boris and Billie were running towards him, full of exuberant energy, trailed by Ben and Charlotte. “Hey, you guys,” he said, ruffling their hair. “How are you?”

“Really good!” Billie yelled, trying to climb up on to the bed. “Me and Boris made you a card, and we wanted to make you a cake, but Mummy said no.” She pouted, making grabby hands at Charlotte. “Give him the card, Mummy.”

Charlotte smiled softly at George and fished a card out of her bag. “They couldn’t decide on one picture between them, so I had to split the page.”  
George took the card with a word of thanks. He turned back to the children, who somehow had managed to scramble onto the bed. “Should I open it now?” They cheered.

Ben winced, and laid a hand on each child’s shoulders. “Remember what I said to you before about being quiet? This is a special place for people to get better and they need lots of sleep.”  
“Like when Mummy was sick and we had to go to the park because we were so loud,” Boris crowed triumphantly, bouncing on George’s leg.  
“Yes, just like that,” Ben said, pulling an exasperated face at George over his son’s head. “Now, let’s watch Uncle George open his card – quietly.”

George carefully ripped through the envelope and took out the card. One half was adorned with a large red flower, while the other depicted a cake and several presents. “Very pretty,” he said earnestly. “Thank you, guys. I love it.”

“Mine is the flower,” Boris said importantly, pointing at it with a pleased smile. “It’s a – a too-”  
“A tulip,” Charlotte cut in smoothly. “We’ve got some in a vase at home and he’s very taken with them. And they symbolise rebirth.” She shrugged. “It seemed right.”  
George smiled at her and her husband, eyes bright. “Thank you. It’s lovely.”

“I did the cake,” Billie interrupted, pushing past her brother. “Because it was my idea to make you one. But it would be too messy for a hospital, so I painted one instead.”  
“Thanks, Bill,” George said. “It looks so good I could almost eat it!” The little girl beamed.

The two children stayed on the bed for a while longer, entertaining George with play-by-plays of their day at nursery and the latest updates on next door’s new cat while Ben and Charlotte watched on fondly.

After ten minutes, Charlotte clapped her hands together. “I think it’s time for us to go,” she said, with an apologetic look at George. “Nearly teatime, isn’t it?” The two children grinned but looked hesitantly back at George.

“What about Uncle George?” Billie asked, squeezing his hand. “He’ll be sad if we go. Five more minutes? Please?”  
Boris joined in her chorus of pleading, but Charlotte would not be swayed. “Say goodbye to Uncle George – give him a nice big hug, and then we’ll see when you can come back again.” The children both snuggled into George’s chest, then allowed themselves to be prised off by their mother. “Right. Daddy’s going to stay and have a chat with Uncle George, but he’ll meet us at the car.”

“Bye, Uncle George,” Boris said tearfully, waving his little hand.  
“Bye, Uncle!” Billie said, smiling bravely. “See you very soon.”  
“What they said,” Charlotte said with a grin, taking her children’s hands. “It’s good to see you again, George. Keep it up.”

Ben and George sat in silence as the trio made their way out of the ward. “Thanks, mate,” George said eventually. “It was good to see them again.”  
“No problem, Uncle George. We just wanted to remind you that you’ve always got family looking out for you.”

***

A few days later, Ben pulled up outside George’s house. It was the first time he’d been there in a week. Opening the door, he pushed down his nerves. Nothing was going to happen, he told himself. George was safe. Sally-Anne was there to make sure of it. It was late afternoon, and a few lights were on – nothing like the blaze of the previous visit. He took a deep breath and forced the tension from his shoulders. Everything was fine.

He rang the doorbell and waited. This was fine. Of course it would take a few seconds for the door to be opened; maybe the Fords were in the garden and just hadn’t heard him ring. His breaths started to quicken. It didn’t normally take this long to answer the door, did it? What if...?

Just as his thoughts began to spiral, the door swung open, revealing a smiling Sally-Anne. “Come in, Ben,” she said, beckoning him in.  
“How are you?” Ben asked, following her down the hall to the kitchen. “How’s George?” He didn’t have time to be nervous about being back in the kitchen; chattering away. Sally-Anne handed him a bowl and a spoon with a cheery “Get mixing!” before disappearing out into the garden.

“Hey, mate,” George said, getting up from the table. “Mum didn’t waste time putting you to work, did she?”  
Ben glanced at the bowl. The mixture was currently a mush of yellows and browns. “I guess not. Nice apron, by the way.”  
George plucked at his pink apron with a wry smile. “She’s very enthusiastic about keeping me busy. It’s sweet, really.”  
“Do you want a go mixing... whatever this is?” Ben asked, proffering the bowl to a shrugging George.

He sat down, having handed the bowl over, and studied his friend. He seemed relaxed enough, although the shadows under his eyes and the sharpness of his cheekbones were still a worry. “So, how’s it going?” he asked, staring out of the window into the garden.  
“It’s alright,” George said, eyes focused on his mixing. “Mum’s still not quite sure how to help, but she’s doing her best. And I’ve got appointments with hospital therapists set up for every Tuesday and Friday for a while.”  
“That’s good. Is there a timeline for all this, or?” Ben swung his legs under the table, frustrated by the stilted conversation.  
“Not really. The depression isn’t going away overnight, so the goal for now is to reduce it to a manageable level. We deal with the rest as it comes.” George was avoiding eye contact just as much as Ben.  
“Okay. Sorry, I didn’t mean to turn this into an interrogation.”

“Who’s interrogating who?” Sally-Anne asked, bustling back in through the door.  
“Don’t worry, Mum,” George said, half-smiling at Ben, “we’re just talking about the plan moving forward.”  
She turned round to face them, face suddenly more serious. “I hope you aren’t pressuring George about rugby. I know the team is a big thing for you lads, but other things are more important. He gets enough of it from his father.”  
Ben held her gaze. “I’m trying not to, but please tell me if I am. I don’t want to be a problem.”  
She smiled; eyes suddenly warmer. “It’s okay, Ben. I didn’t think you would, but it’s better safe than sorry.”

George was staring at the floor, chewing on his lower lip, and Ben could tell it was time to change the subject. “What’s this that we’re mixing for you, anyway? It smells amazing.”  
Sally-Anne picked up the bowl, looking at it with a discerning gaze. “Not that you’ve helped much, but it’s one of George’s gran’s old recipes.”  
As she rambled on about the proportions of fruit in the mixture, George kicked Ben gently under the table. “Thanks for distracting her, mate. She’s a bit overprotective sometimes. Mama Bear and her cub, you know.”  
Ben grinned. “I know how she feels, Fordy. Trust me, I feel the same way – I just can’t show it by forcing you to make cake!”

Sally-Anne continued to potter in the background as they talked. George said he wasn’t feeling as close to the edge as before; the antidepressants might have been doing their job already, or it could just be the placebo effect. Geordan had reached out and said that the club were prepared to give him as much time as he needed to recover. “He even sent me a card!” George said in disbelief, taking it off the windowsill and passing it to Ben. There was a tiger on the front, holding a banner that said ‘Get well soon’ with the ‘soon’ crossed out.  
“Wonder how long it took him to find that,” Ben snorted, handing it back.

They talked about Bailee, and Jess, and how George was hoping to get a new dog to replace the French bulldog. “I love her so much, but I don’t think I could have another Frenchie without thinking about Jess all the time,” he explained, “and that’s the number one rule: don’t think about the things on the bad list.” He looked down at the table. “I’d really like a shelter dog. We could have a fresh start together.”

Ben pretended to wipe away a tear. “That was bloody poetic, mate. But yeah, that sounds great. The kids and Ness have really missed Bailee, so they’d love it.”  
George smiled, face more open now. “Yeah. Mum’s not too keen, but it’s my house. Maybe in a couple of months.”  
“In a couple of months, I want to be back in my own house,” Sally-Anne called from the garden. “You can have all the dogs you want then, as long as you’re okay.”  
Ben tensed, prepared for a backlash, but George just shrugged. “That’s fair, I suppose.”

“How… how are things with Jess anyway?” Ben asked tentatively. “Have you spoken to her since – you know.”  
George looked at him seriously. “Yeah. We’ve texted a few times. She let me know how badly I treated her, and I apologised. It’s amiable now, but it’s over.”  
Ben pulled a face. “I’m sure you weren’t that bad. You were going through a lot-”

“Trust me, I was,” George interrupted. “After I’d controlled everything in my own life, I started trying to organise hers. At the time, I thought I was doing her a favour. Really, it was horrible and manipulative.” He dropped his gaze, speaking in a small voice. “I can see why she left.”  
Ben winced. “I mean – at least you’ve acknowledged it now? That might make her feel better,” he said bracingly.  
“I don’t think it did,” George said with a shrug. “I was awful to her for months. One apology won’t make much difference.” Ben sighed and moved the conversation on to a happier topic.

They continued talking until six, when Ben had to go home. “It’s been good talking to you, mate,” he said, clapping George on the shoulder.  
“Good to be home,” George countered with a smile.  
“I’ll show you out,” Sally-Anne said, a new tension entering her cheery voice. She accompanied Ben to the front door, out of George’s earshot. “I just wanted to make sure you knew, Ben – he might seem like he’s a lot better already, but it’s mostly an act. He wouldn’t get out of bed this morning and he was really lethargic until you arrived.”

She hushed his protests with a finger to the lips. “I don’t mean that in a bad way, just managing expectations. Georgie’s suffering, and he will be for a while yet. He doesn’t want to show you because you’re all big rugby players together and he doesn’t want to be kicked out for not being hard enough. Alright?” Ben nodded, still taken aback. She kissed him on the cheek, then opened the door. “Thank you for coming around, Ben. We both really appreciate it.”

Ben sat in the car, dazed as if in the aftermath of an earthquake. Realistically, he had known that George’s apparent recovery was too good to be true, but he thought that they were close enough friends that an act wouldn’t be needed. An uncomfortable feeling settled in his stomach. And George preferring to talk to Owen over him about his problems: obviously it was good there was some dialogue going on and he hadn’t kept himself completely closed away, but why not talk to Ben? They lived in the same city, spent most of their time together, and even went on holiday sometimes. Ben didn’t know the Ford parents very well either, so that wouldn’t have been an issue.

Slowly putting the car into gear, he resolved not to ask. There must have been a reason. But that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

Naturally, that was the first thing the Tigers counsellor picked up on in their session the next day. A tall, burly man named Robert, he was sat back in his chair calmly listening to Ben recount the events of the past fortnight. “It sounds like you’re having a lot of feelings about all this, Ben,” he said, vowels rounded out by a Scottish burr. “Could you tell me more about that?”  
Ben shuffled his feet, looking past the other man to the cream-coloured wall. “I mean – obviously I’m upset, because George tried to kill himself, and angry, because he didn’t tell any of us that he was struggling apart from Owen Farrell of all people, and more angry because now I’m affecting my own family with my reactions to all this.” He let out a long breath.

“That doesn’t sound easy,” Robert said slowly. “To me, it seems like your initial response was sadness and fear in a difficult situation, which then became anger once the situation had stabilised. Would you agree with that assessment?”

“Yeah,” Ben nodded, “yeah, I am angry. I didn’t realise until now, but I’m really pissed. He trusted Faz enough to tell him, but not the rest of us. And then Faz basically abdicated his duty as a friend by not telling anyone who actually lived close enough to help that this was a possibility. And then he has the nerve to swan in and out – he’s in London now! – without a shred of guilt because he could have prevented this whole situation.”

He shook his head violently. “I’m so fucking angry with him. And with myself, because I guess it’s kind of irrational, but also it is more his fault than any of the rest of us. He had George’s trust, he knew what was going on, and he didn’t do anything. Everyone else – if we’d asked, George wouldn’t have told us, I bet.” He huffed and fell silent.

Robert let his words hang in the air for a minute before speaking. “You’ve probably heard this before, but it’s absolutely fine that you feel these emotions. And it’s completely understandable that you’re angry at Owen because he had access to information that nobody else did and chose not to act on it.” Ben scratched the back of his neck.

“But I would also like you to consider Owen’s perspective. Of course, this is all speculation because neither of us know what they talked about, but perhaps George told him that he was stressed about rugby or was feeling under a lot of pressure. If I was in his place, I wouldn’t want the one person I trusted to run off and tell the people who were putting me under that pressure.” He stopped, clearly waiting for an answer.

“I see what you mean. I guess I’m not angry at Owen, really. It’s more that I’m jealous of him, maybe, for having George’s trust, even when they’ve known each other longer. And how everyone’s so grateful for what I did except George. I don’t understand it.”

Ben looked at Robert, hoping to see a positive expression on the other man’s face. Even in the short time they’d been talking, he had realised that Robert was a good person to have on your side. Charlotte would be so impressed, he thought: emotional awareness _and _growth, all in the space of an hour.

Luckily, Robert was nodding. “Is there someone you have who you could confide in like that? If everything was going wrong, could you tell them anything?”  
Ben grinned. “Yeah – my wife, Charlotte. She’s fantastic. She’s the one who suggested this, too.”  
Robert smiled back. “That’s good. We all need support from time to time. I would recommend that you talk to her about these sessions, to encourage the habit of emotional honesty and openness. She might have a useful perspective to offer – particularly as she knows more of the particulars than I do.”

Ben nodded, stretching out his arms. “Is there anything else I could do to help? Because George gets homework from his psychiatrist, and I don’t want to be a slacker.”  
Robert nodded thoughtfully. “I think a good first step would be to talk about the issues you’ve raised today – with Charlotte, with George, and even with Owen if you’re comfortable doing that. It’s important to have things sorted in your own head, but sharing your emotions with others is really good too.”

“Okay, that sounds doable. What do I do if I want to talk about something before the session next week?”  
“You can try writing out your feelings – in a kind of journal, but one that doesn’t have to be updated every day. If you’re having a moment, try writing about it and processing things that way.”  
Ben leaned over and shook Robert’s hand, smiling. “That’s a really good idea. Thank you.”  
“I’ll see you next week, Ben,” Robert said, nodding and turning back to his computer.

As Ben walked out into the deserted club carpark, he reflected on the preseason so far. It had only been a few days, but the hole left by George’s absence was more than obvious. It was like an ever-present gap in the heart of the team; almost an ache of loss. Admittedly, they had a like-for-like replacement in Joe, but it still jarred Ben every time he looked over and the flyhalf at the centre of the pitch was a few inches taller than he expected.

The team hadn’t really come together to talk about it either. Ben knew from talking to Tom that everyone knew why George wasn’t at training, but the majority of the players were carefully avoiding the topic. He, Jonny, and Joe were almost segregated from the others by repeated pitying glances and subdued pats on the back. Nobody wanted to be the first to mention it, but it was making the atmosphere at the club extremely tense. Conversations would be cut off halfway through if Ben walked into the room, or sentences left unfinished. It was almost worse than an initial frank talk would have been.

“I don’t know what to do about it,” he complained to Joe that evening. The two halfbacks were sat in George’s living room while George washed up the dinner plates with Sally-Anne, and Connie and Charlotte watched the kids outside. “It’s the elephant in the room, and it’s disrupting training.”  
“I know what you mean,” Joe said, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to speak for George, but then I don’t want him to come back to this horrible half-talking thing that’s been going on.”

“And if it carries on into the season ... We’d be screwed,” Ben sighed. “We need to have a sit-down chat about it. D’you think George would be comfortable coming in for a few hours to get it out the way? I think the coaches would be happy about that too.”  
Joe shrugged. “That sounds like the quickest way to go about it. We can ask him when he comes through if that’s alright.”

A few minutes later, Sally-Anne came in and sat down. “George’s gone to bed,” she said softly. “Everything was getting a bit overwhelming, with all the people here, and he wasn’t feeling great earlier anyway. He says sorry.” Ben bit his lip, trying to affect an understanding smile. Why was he acting like this now? He’d never hidden away from people before the – that night, so how could his behaviour have changed so quickly?

Joe seemed to share his worry. “He wasn’t doing that before, was he?” he asked, eyes flipping between his mother and his friend.  
Sally-Anne folded her hands in her lap. “No, he wasn’t. From my perspective, he used to push himself too hard, what with everything that was going on, to act normal. Now he’s learning to be kinder to himself by resting when he needs to, not sticking to a routine so rigidly.”

Ben and Joe exchanged uneasy looks. It seemed that almost every part of George’s life had been centred around well-drilled patterns – from kicking practices to his fixation on cleanliness and order. Before, Ben had admired his friend’s dedication and commitment, but now it just looked unhealthy. “I think it’s time for us to be heading out,” Ben said abruptly, standing up. “It’s nearly the kids’ bedtime.”

Sally-Anne watched him leave with pity in her eyes, and he couldn’t look back. He needed to consider this new reality: one in which George was trapped in his routine, not thriving on it. He understood how it could happen – every single coach preached consistency as the way to success and extending that beyond its useful boundaries was dangerous. But George had had, until very recently, a girlfriend and a dog to provide spontaneity and relief from the structure of his career.

He didn’t remember getting home; Charlotte must have strapped the kids in, driven back, but he was too preoccupied by his memories. Every time George arrived at training early to run ten laps of the pitch, regardless of the weather. Every time he didn’t eat someone’s birthday cake, or pretended to and put it in the bin afterwards. Every time he skipped a team bonding activity to go to bed at the same time each night.

Ben shuddered. Just thinking about it felt like hell. He couldn’t imagine living like that for weeks, months, years on end. Clearly, neither could George.

Following another group meeting at George’s house the next day (with George feeling up to providing input), they decided to leave tackling the lack of communication in the Tigers squad until the next week. It wasn’t affecting training too much, and the problem might resolve itself in the meantime.

The one thing that was changing the dynamic of the club was an increased media presence. Clearly someone had got wind of George’s absence, and now there were three or four journalists waiting outside the clubhouse every morning and taking photos of training. PR had asked that they leave, but nothing had happened as of yet. Geordan instructed all the players to ignore them, though it was difficult to focus on a tackling exercise with several huge cameras poking through the fence, trained on their every move. Charlotte had mentioned casually to Ben that the _Daily Mail _had written a few articles about it. Anger blurred his vision, until his journal caught his eye. Wasn’t this exactly what Robert had recommended it for?

Despite the help of his writing, Ben couldn’t stop thinking about it. Luckily, George had always been very private, so the press didn’t know where he lived and thus couldn’t camp outside his house (he had vivid memories of Chris Robshaw having to stay at his brother-in-law’s house after the 2015 World Cup). But there was nothing they could do about it, short of threatening legal action. He closed the journal and pushed it away with a sigh. Maybe the only way out was through – George talking to the team and the press office, throwing the media a bone to keep them happy for the time being.

He suggested the idea tentatively when he next saw George, at the weekend. He, George and Owen were sat around a table in Ben’s back garden for a change of scenery, looking out at the trees. “I just think it could be good; you know, almost play their own game and satisfy them for a while.”  
George hummed. “I don’t know. I mean, the team, yes. But I’m not comfortable with everyone else knowing. I want to be better before that happens, so it’s not a sob story about why I was playing so badly last season.” Owen made a warning noise in the back of his throat. “Okay, fine, not perfect,” George amended, “but better. You guys know how important it is to control the narrative.”

Ben nodded in acknowledgement. It was a valid point – say too much, too soon, and suddenly every player who had ever been on the same pitch as George would be asked about it.  
“Do you think you’ll talk to Tigers soon, then?” Owen asked softly. “They all know anyway, so it can’t hurt to have a chat and establish expectations.”  
“I suppose,” George said. “The lads are used to me blathering on at them, so it shouldn’t be too different from usual,” he added with a self-deprecating shrug of the shoulders.

Ben smiled. It was a positive step forwards, one from which the whole team – and organisation, really – would benefit. A sudden flash of jealousy twinged in his chest. Of course, George would accept the idea immediately if Owen suggested it, he thought bitterly. Even when Ben himself and George’s own parents had advocated for such a meeting, the flyhalf had been non-committal at best.

He took a deep breath. He shouldn’t be envious of their relationship, he reminded himself. His suggestions might have laid the groundwork for George’s acceptance of the idea now. In spite of his best efforts, the green-eyed monster still lurked in the corners of his mind.

While he was stewing, the other two men had moved the conversation on to Kobe and how he was starting to talk. “It’s really cute,” George said wistfully, looking at the distant fields outside the city. “I’m absolutely not ready for kids, but they’re fun to have around.”  
Ben raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, for a few hours, mate. Wait until they’re screaming in the middle of the night and you have training at nine the next morning! It’s rough, I’m telling you.”

Owen cleared his throat. “About that...”  
Ben turned to him, wide-eyed. “You’re not saying-” he breathed. “Already?”

“Yeah,” Owen said, bashful. “Georgie’s pregnant. Due at the end of February.”  
George grabbed his hand, tears gathering in his eyes. “So – seven months? Mate, wow – congratulations!” Owen pulled him into a tight hug, murmuring something into his ear.

Ben could feel himself growing misty-eyed. “That’s amazing, Faz. Bloody hell, I feel like I’m becoming a grandfather or something.”  
Owen chuckled wetly. “Yeah, my dad was pretty excited when we told him. He’s not even fifty yet, is the funniest thing.”  
“Oh, mate,” George repeated, clinging on to Owen. “This sounds stupid, but – this makes me kind of glad you found me, Ben. I couldn’t have missed this.”

Then they were all crying and clutching at each other, Ben unashamedly soaking Owen’s T-shirt with his tears. “Fuck, Faz,” George said, voice hoarse, “you’re going to be a dad. That’s incredible.”  
“This kid is going to have so many uncles,” Ben said. “Like, the whole of Saracens, plus most of the national team. It’s going to be spoiled rotten.”  
“Well, if you’ve got any tips...” Owen said, grinning. “Although I think Georgie’s telling Charlotte, Connie and Sally-Anne later, so maybe she’ll get better advice off them.”

Having stopped crying, the three men contemplated the gradually darkening sky. “Seriously, though,” George said quietly, “there haven’t been many things recently that make me think not dying was worth it. This is the best news I’ve heard in ages.” Again, Ben was forced to reassess his jealousy. Anything that brought George joy in his current state was a gift not to be refused. And Owen had provided that for him, so Ben had to be grateful.


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing that Ben saw when he walked into the clubhouse on Monday morning was George, standing and chatting to Tom, Joe and Jonny by the vending machine. He did a double take. It was almost as though nothing had happened (if you ignored the wide berth they were being given by the other players, or George’s nervous glances at them).

“So the meeting’s today, I take it?” Ben asked, joining into the group.  
“Yep,” George confirmed, light tone betrayed by his pale face. “Just going to get it done. Before you lot go into the gym. Geordan wants a word too, so it made sense.”  
“We’ll all be in there to back you up, Fordy,” Tom said calmly, sensing the nerves of the other three players. “I’ve already spoken to them – they won’t say anything out of order, don’t worry.” The captain’s words didn’t do much to settle Ben’s stomach, and Jonny’s twitching didn’t stop even when they entered the conference room and sat down.

The chairs were arranged in a circle, out of their usual rows. Ben and Joe flanked George, with Tom and Jonny on Ben’s other side. There wasn’t much they could do to help, but they tried. “Right, morning all,” Geordan began once the players had all sat down. “Before the gym session, Fordy wants to say something. You all know what this is about, so let’s keep this respectful, please.” The coach sat down and tipped his head at George, yielding the floor.

“Okay,” George started shakily, eyes fixed on the floor. He clasped his hands together in an effort to make their trembling less visible. “There’s no easy way around this – I tried to kill myself a few weeks ago.” Ben scanned the room, watching each man drop his gaze or shuffle his feet uncomfortably. “I was fucking miserable, and rugby was a pretty big part in that. I won’t be doing preseason, and I don’t know when – or if – I’ll feel ready to play again.” He shrugged, voice steadier now. “That’s all. I’ll be cheering you lads on, but I can’t be out there with you.”

Silence fell. Joe reached over and squeezed his little brother’s shoulder. Ben was suddenly choked up, a lump blocking his throat. They would have all lost something if the attempt had succeeded, he realised, not least Joe.

He looked around the room. Every single one of those men would have realised what George meant to them, only too late. He caught Dan Cole’s gaze. The prop’s face was blotchy, as though he was suppressing tears. Ben nodded at him, a silent acknowledgement: _it’s okay. You can cry. God knows we all have. _

But instead of letting the tears brimming in his eyes roll down his cheeks, Dan brought his hands together and started clapping. Soon, everyone in the circle of chairs was applauding George. The man himself had his face buried in Joe’s neck, holding tight to his waist.

“Okay, boys,” Tom said over the applause, voice commendably even, “I think that’s enough for now. If you want to have a word with George, go ahead. Everyone else – gym in five.” He clapped George on the back and followed Geordan out of the room.

Most of the players gave George a hug or a word of encouragement and went on their way. The only stragglers were Manu and Greg Bateman. “Hey, Fordy,” Manu said with a slight smile, “that was really brave. I hope you’re doing better now, mate. You can call me anytime, you know? And little Lei would love to come round and play with you, if you want.”  
George nodded gratefully. “Thanks, mate. I’ll text you, yeah?” Manu shook the extended hand and wandered out of the room.

“Greg,” George said, patting the seat next to him. Ben wrinkled his nose in confusion, then looked closer. The prop’s eyes were watering and it was obvious he was upset. “What’s up?” Greg shook his head, wordless. “Mate, I can kick this lot out if you’d prefer.”  
Greg shook his head again, but Ben could take a hint. “Come on,” he murmured to Joe and Jonny. As they left, he heard Greg begin to talk, stilted at first but tumbling into a stream of wretched sobs.

“That was rough,” Jonny said, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Like, it’s horrible, but just saying it like that. And then Greg – poor guy.”  
“Do you know what all that was about?” Joe asked curiously.

Jonny looked back towards the now-closed door. “Yeah. He’s not seeing his kids much at the moment – hasn’t been for a while – but I think that’s just the tip of the iceberg.” He shook his head. “If something good can come out of this, at least Greg’s started talking. I was worried about him towards the end of the season, I’ll be honest.” He tipped his head back against the wall and groaned. “Of course, I didn’t do anything about it, like usual.”

Ben tensed. Jonny was one of the happy-go-lucky guys in the squad, so such self-flagellation was extremely out of character. “Look, we all know we could have done things better, but that’s in the past. We can only learn from our mistakes and move on.”  
Jonny rolled his eyes. “Yes, thank you, Yoda. Anyway, let’s go to the gym. Geordan’s probably started by now.”

The next fortnight passed in the same uncomfortable stasis. Ben and the rest of the Tigers squad trained every day, getting hot and sweaty under the late August sun. George was a notable absence, with the tandem of Matt Toomua and Joe Ford unable to fill his place in the team. Sometimes he came to training and watched from the privacy of the clubhouse.

Aside from that, Ben only saw George the few times a week that he visited his house, or they had a general meetup of their new group. He seemed – happier wasn’t the right word for it, because he rarely had a smile on his face – more at ease with himself, as if the time he spent inside thinking was more valuable than the hours he could be spending on the rugby pitch.

However, things came to a head in the first week of September. Leicester had undergone a humiliating 40-6 loss to Exeter at Sandy Park on the first of the month – conceding six tries and only converting two penalties was a pretty poor showing, even Ben could admit. But, as well as they’d started the match, Matt’s increasingly obvious inability to manage the flow of the game dragged the Tigers down. So it wasn’t exactly a surprise when Tom came storming into the changing room after his post-match interview and yelled, “I fucking hate the media!” The slam of his fist against the wall echoed in the stunned silence.

“What happened, mate?” Ben asked cautiously. Everyone else was avoiding the captain’s enraged gaze.  
“They only went and asked about Fordy. Why he isn’t here, that kind of thing. I tried to ‘no comment’ my way out of it, but they weren’t having any of it. Kept asking, so I told them to mind their own business and left.” He huffed out a sigh. “I know the lad wants privacy, but I’m not doing this every week.” Nobody had a reply to that, so Tom started stripping off with a grunt and headed for the showers.

Conversation eventually started up again, and Jonny took advantage of the noise to edge closer to Ben. “I know Fordy doesn’t want to make a fuss. This is stupid, though. He can’t expect people to just ignore him not being here – he’s practically vice-captain, for God’s sake!” Jonny raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Do you think we should talk to him about it?”

Ben hummed, scraping the mud off his boots and stowing them in his bag. “Maybe not us. We’ve been acting as the go-betweens this whole time – Fordy needs to realise that he can’t cut himself off like this. Anyway, I reckon PR is going to have a word. Tom can’t throw a strop every time he does an interview. There’ll probably be a statement or something like that.” Jonny nodded consideringly and wandered back to his own locker.

Ben didn’t hear any more about the interview fiasco until Owen rang him a few days later. “Have you seen the _Daily Mail _today?” the flyhalf asked, voice hard.  
“No,” Ben said, immediately grabbing his tablet to search. “What’s up?”  
“They’ve done an article about George. Speculation only, of course, but it’s closer to the truth than anyone would have wanted.”  
“Shit. Hang on, I’ve just found it.” Ben scanned through. Tigers flyhalf hospitalised ... no official reason ... rumours say ... He exhaled. “Christ. This isn’t good. Do you know if he’s seen it?”

“I don’t know. Hopefully not. Is there anything your PR team can do?” Owen said flatly. “Surely they can threaten to prosecute and get it taken down? It’s defamation, or something like that.”  
Ben clicked away from the article and opened his email. “I’m sending them the link now.” He sighed. “This was always going to happen. Did you see Tom’s interview after the Chiefs match?” Owen grunted his agreement. “Exactly. Jonny and I were thinking that we needed to get ahead of the story somehow, but it’s too late.”  
“I’ll talk to George. Try and persuade him to let your PR team put out a statement. It’ll make things easier in the long run.”  
“Okay. Thanks, Faz. Hope you and Georgie are doing well.” The call disconnected.

Ben sat back in his chair. Something needed to be done, but it wasn’t his place to intervene. George had to do this by himself, with the help of the PR team if necessary. He bit his lip. At least Mike was out of the country. Trying to coach Germany to qualify for the World Cup didn’t leave much time for pressuring your ill son back into playing.

And Sally-Anne was good, he reflected. She occupied him with household chores and menial jobs when he wanted them and left him alone when he didn’t. He massaged his temples. Surely George would want to do something else soon, though. But if not rugby, what? Unless his friend had a very well-hidden desire to do something else, there wasn’t another option for him.

By Thursday evening’s gathering at Joe’s house, the situation seemed at least partially resolved. “I’ve been emailing with Kate in PR. She’s drafted a statement,” George explained, eyes focused on Kobe crawling around the room. “It doesn’t really say anything, just tells the media to shut up and leave me alone – or else.”  
“Will that actually work?” Ben asked.  
“Put it this way: she’s very good at subtly threatening lawsuits,” George said grimly. “I won’t let them force me into saying anything.” Ben opened his mouth to query, but Joe shook his head. Somehow, Ben could tell that this argument had been had several times already.

“Okay then,” he said, changing the subject. “Does that mean you can come and watch training in peace now?”  
George smiled. “Yeah, if I want. But Geordan suggested that I could help out with the academy for the moment. As a no pressure thing that’s kind of adjacent to rugby – plus I’d actually be earning my salary.”

“That’s cool,” Ben said, nodding. “So what would that actually involve?”  
“Mainly going to all the different development centres and doing skills sessions for the backs, and some place-kicking stuff for the flyhalves. Nothing too strenuous, and they’re going to send out the same ‘don’t ask on pain of financial ruin’ thing to the coaches.”

Joe clapped his brother on the knee. “Basically, he’s working his way back into the swing of things.”  
George wrinkled his nose. “I’m not making any promises. Those kids are good – the coaches showed me some of their game footage – but I know I could make them better.”

Ben grinned despite the put-upon tone in George’s voice. “That’s great, Fordy. So this is your project for the moment, right? Training up all the promising youngsters in Leicestershire.”  
George laughed. “Eh, maybe. I’ll see how the first week goes. Obviously if I want to get involved with the main squad again, I won’t be driving around shouting at teenagers.”

Ben smiled. “That’s awesome, buddy.” And it was. George was showing a sustained interest in something for the first time in ages. It would get him out of the house and possibly even bring him back into the Tigers first team. It seemed perfect – and not just because the academy would benefit from it.

Other parts of life seemed to be looking up too. The ‘cease and desist’ message from PR had been heeded, with only one news outlet daring to even mention George’s name. (Owen had called Ben in a huff, demanding to know why the order was being ignored. It took a few minutes for him to explain that the article really hadn’t said anything about George, just noting that Matt was playing in his absence – which was a fact.)

Slowly, the events of those awful days in July were receding, along with the chances of them happening again. Ben still woke up in a cold sweat at night, but therapy was helping him – and George, and apparently Greg as well.

***

Working with the academy kids wasn’t actually as hard as George had feared. Even though he was facing down a different group of teenage boys almost every day, his reputation managed to instil enough awe in them that he didn’t have to do much to earn their respect and have an impact.

The coaches weren’t particularly demanding, either. The usual brief was to lead a few attacking drills and then work with the backs on their kicking. It was all good fun; more purposeful than Sally-Anne’s busywork, and reducing his guilt about leaching off Tigers.

The placekicking exercises were perhaps the most entertaining for George. Each boy had his own style, but he could see the Wilkinson approach was increasingly being replaced by Owen’s death stare technique. One young flyhalf, Charlie, even came up to him after a session and asked if he could get Owen’s autograph. George could barely hold in a snort, promising to try for the kid.

“You should have seen his face, though,” George told Owen as he drove home from the club. “So earnest, so excited about his hero.”  
“That’s a bit weird,” Owen said, voice coming through the car’s speakers. “He can’t be that much younger than us.”  
“Eh,” George shrugged, “he’s sixteen. So – about a decade. I think it’s sweet.”  
“Hmm. Let’s see if you think it’s cute when you’ve got some Sarries kid pretending they’re you. I bet I can find you one.”  
George snorted. “Good luck with that, mate. Start with the short ones, then go from there.”

Owen clucked his tongue. “Oi. Give me a week. There’ll be one somewhere.” His voice softened. “Anyway, how was the rest of it? Aside from my fans, obviously.”  
“I’m not sure. I messed up explaining one of the drills, but they didn’t seem to mind. One of the wingers told me afterwards it was his new favourite.” He wrinkled his nose. “They must have really low standards.”

The other man sighed. “Not this again. You don’t have to be perfect – especially not with this. They’re just excited to have a proper international coaching them. And if that gets them access to me,” he said with more amusement in his voice, “then that’s good too.”  
“If you say so,” George replied, sounding more sure of himself. “I’m at home now, so – talk to you tomorrow?”  
“Of course,” Owen said. “And I’ll have found you a mini-Ford, don’t you worry. Love you.”

“Love you too, Owen,” George said, hanging up with a smile on his face.

***

The locker room was quieter without George there. Yes, Joe’s northern accent still mixed in with all the other voices, but it wasn’t the same. The brothers were eerily similar in some respects, but they couldn’t replace each other.

When Geordan announced that George was making a partial return to training midway through September, Ben felt no small amount of relief. It showed that the recovery was working, and that his friend wouldn’t end up without a job in the near future.

The noise when George entered the changing room for the first time in months was deafening. There was an uncertain pause as George came in behind Jonny, but soon the team was back up to its usual decibel level. The backs were piling in to hug him, while the forwards settled for whooping and cheering. Having extracted himself from the impromptu maul, George walked over to his locker. He sat down next to Ben and shared a smile. “It’s good to be back,” he shouted over the yelling.  
“It’s good to see you here again,” Ben replied, leaning closer to George to be heard. “What’s-”

The question was cut off by the entrance of the head coach. “Morning, everyone,” he said with a smile on his usually dour face. “Wasps away this week, so we’re going to get stuck into training and carry on the momentum from the Newcastle win on Saturday. Oh, and,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “it’s great to have Fordy back with us. He’s still going to be working with the academy a few days a week and he’s not back to full contact yet, but it’s good news. Happy to see you again, mate.” He nodded at Tom and left the room.

The captain stood up. “Yeah, just to second that – glad you’re back, Fordy. If there’s anything you want to say, talk to me and we can set something up.” He scanned the room, a mock-severe expression on his face. “Play nicely, boys. The little guy hasn’t trained for a while so you can’t joke about me running faster than him.” Ben could feel George grinning at his side, and he was grateful to his brother for breaking the ice.

They went out to the training field, and Ben couldn’t resist hugging George. “I know everyone’s said this a million times already, but I’m so happy that you’re still here, mate. Not just for rugby, either. I hope I’ve done enough to make you realise that we all care about you and want the best for you, whatever that looks like.”  
George pressed his head into Ben’s neck. “Trust me, mate, you have. One day at a time, and all that.” Then Geordan blew a whistle and they were off.

George was huffing and puffing a lot more than usual, but the grin on his bright red face was clear to see. They split up into teams for a touch game to round off the morning session and the flyhalf was the first player to score, looping around Ellis and Dan to touch down in the corner. Inevitably, both sets of players mobbed him, Jonny picking him up and carrying him around like a trophy. When the chaos subsided, Ben ruffled his hair, warmth in his chest. “You’ve still got it, Fordy,” he said, giving him a quick side hug before returning to the game.

The game finished with George’s team ahead by five points and the goodwill of everyone on the pitch. The mood was light as the players filed back into the changing room and cleaned up in the showers. Nobody could pierce the bubble of joy that surrounded them; it felt more like an end-of-season celebration than the third week of the season.

As the group started leaving to go to lunch, George pulled Ben aside. The worried look on his face immediately set the scrumhalf on edge. “You alright, mate?” he asked, pushing down the nerves in his stomach.  
“Yeah, no – I need a favour,” George said, looking past him. “Basically, one of my – triggers, for want of a better word – is controlling my diet too much. Mum’s taken the responsibility away from me at home by cooking everything, but here...”  
Ben frowned. “D’you want me to choose your meal? That’s not a problem.”  
George nodded gratefully. “That would be awesome. It’s just – being back in this environment is making the compulsion worse, and I don’t want to slip back into old patterns on the first day.”  
“Of course. No broccoli, but everything else is fine, right?” he checked. George nodded and followed him to the canteen.

Over lunch, the other players were keen to talk to George. He picked at his food (Ben had taken care to avoid the usual combinations and proportions) and chatted gamely as most of the players passed by. “You’re back in training, then?” Dan asked, scratching his ear.  
“Sort of,” George replied, eyes flicking down to the table for a second. “I agreed with the coaches that me being in video sessions is a bit pointless for now, so I’m in for the physical stuff, just without contact.”  
“And the academy stuff?”  
“That’s twice a week in the afternoons – it means I can get fitter while not feeling pressured to play.”

Dan nodded seriously. “That sounds logical. How’s Eddie been about it?”  
George pushed his food around his plate with a fork. “He’s been fine. Not over the top, but he let me know that I should take as long as I need.”  
“But do you actually want to play for England again?” Ben asked curiously. “If rugby’s on the bad list, and all that.”

The flyhalf shrugged and took a bite. “A few months ago, I would have done anything to not be in England camp again, but now I’m thinking the World Cup could still be achievable.”  
Ben and Dan exchanged hopeful grins. “That’s awesome, mate,” Ben said, with Dan echoing him. “But don’t rush anything. I think I speak for everyone when I say we’d rather have you at home and happy than miserable in camp.”  
George smiled and touched Ben’s arm briefly. “Thanks, lads. Things might change, but that’s how I’m feeling today.”

With the return of their star flyhalf to most training sessions, the mood of the team lifted and was reflected in their performances. With wins against Sale and Northampton in the last week of September and the beginning of October, Tigers were comfortably settled in the middle of the table – an improvement on their early slump into the relegation zone.

While Matt seemed to be finding his feet with regular starts at ten, Ben couldn’t help worrying that George would feel pushed out of the team; if they were successful without him, he wouldn’t feel needed anymore. He resolved to talk to his friend about it.

But before he had the chance, he received a frantic call from Owen. “Mate, have you seen the message from Sally-Anne?” he asked, gasping out the words.  
“No – what did she say?”  
“George locked himself in the bathroom and – and cut himself.” Ben swore. “She’s taking him to hospital now. Is there any way you could get there?”  
“I’m at home – I can leave now.” Ben grabbed his keys and jogged to the front door. Scribbling a note to his wife, he let himself out and got in the car. “I’m putting you on speaker, okay, mate,” he said, resting the phone on the central console. “Are you alright?” Owen’s breaths were audible over the speaker. “Talk to me, Faz.”  
“I’m not alright,” he said, panting like he’d been sprinting. “I’m fucking scared that my best friend is never going to be happy again. I’m fucking pissed that I live so far away. And I’m fucking terrified that he’s going to try to kill himself again and I won’t get there in time.”

Ben clenched his hands on the steering wheel. There was nothing he could say to help. “I’m about ten minutes away from the hospital,” he said, trying to be the voice of reason in the conversation. “How about you go and talk to Georgie, or give Ron a cuddle, hmm? I’ll text you as soon as I know anything.” Owen didn’t answer – it sounded suspiciously like he was crying – and the call disconnected.

Walking into the hospital again was like being drenched in icy water. Ben could feel his heart beating faster in his chest and adrenaline flooding into his veins. He headed for the A&E waiting room, hoping against hope for – what? Was there any positive outcome to this situation? He walked faster.

He rounded the corner to see Joe and Jonny huddled around a weeping Sally-Anne. It had only been a few weeks, but he had thought he would never have to see such an awful sight again. He touched Joe on the shoulder with a sympathetic smile and took a chair opposite. Jonny leaned over to him and whispered in his ear, “He was bleeding a lot, so they’re bandaging his arms now. And they want to keep him in overnight for observation – maybe longer. It depends.”

Ben nodded silently, watching the two Fords. Sally-Anne was hunched over, keening, while Joe tried to comfort his mother. “My fault,” she kept repeating, “it’s my fault.” Ben bit his lip. Jonny clutched at his hand.  
“It isn’t your fault, Mum,” Ben could hear Joe murmuring. “It wasn’t you. You’ve been amazing. It wasn’t George’s fault either. He’s ill, and we can’t expect him to recover perfectly.”

Ben looked away. It was difficult to see the usually calm and collected Sally-Anne in such a state. Even in the first hours in the ICU, she was self-possessed. Now it seemed that all her pain was pouring out. He pulled his phone out to text Owen. _Staff applying bandages, going to keep him in for a bit for observation. Recovery not linear, etc. Look after yourself_, he typed, wishing he could do more.

“How’s he coping?” Jonny asked, tipping his head at the phone screen.  
Ben shook his head. “You know how he is. All stoic until one thing happens and all the emotion comes rushing out. I suggested he talk to Georgie, but we can’t help much from here.”  
“Do you know when he’s next coming up?”

“He can’t this weekend because Sarries are in Glasgow, but I think next week they’re at home to Lyon on the Saturday. He’ll have a few days free then.”  
Jonny shuddered. “I’d hate to be so far away if my best friend was in this situation.”  
“You know he can’t do anything about it,” Ben reminded him. It felt like he was chiding one of his children.  
“Yeah, but...” Jonny sighed. “It’s rough. They’re both suffering.”

Just then, a nurse came out of the warren of consulting rooms and walked over to them. “Hello, everyone. You’re with George Ford, correct?” They all looked to Sally-Anne to answer, but she continued to cry. Joe nodded wordlessly. “I’m happy to tell you that we’ve patched him up now. Although there were a lot of cuts, they weren’t too deep, which is good news. George has agreed to stay in hospital overnight and longer if necessary.”

“Is that to make sure he – it doesn’t happen again?” Joe asked thickly.  
“Yes, and also to reassess his mental condition. The staff have agreed that we don’t feel comfortable releasing him again without a more robust framework of treatment.” He nodded again. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting twenty minutes or so, I can come back and take you in to see him.”

Ben cut in. “Has he said he wants us to visit? Because last time he was quite embarrassed by us seeing him there.”  
The nurse shrugged slightly. “I understand your concern. Hospital policy is that patients’ family and friends should be allowed to visit. Obviously, we don’t want to worsen the issue, but in this case it might help.”  
Ben sat back. “Well, you know best,” he said with a flap of a hand. The nurse smiled tightly and left.

“Don’t you think we should get to see him?” Joe asked, brow furrowed. “We’re his family.”  
Ben scowled. “If you want to, that’s up to you. I just don’t want to see him upset.”  
“I’m his brother! You’d think I know what he wants – I’ve known him all his life!” Joe shot back, voice growing louder.  
“It’s your choice,” Ben snapped. “I’m going to call Charlotte.” He stood up, shaking off Jonny’s restraining hand, and left the room.

***

The ward was clean, and quiet, and calm. It was everything George would have wanted, a few weeks ago. Now he found himself yearning for the chaotic noise of the Tigers locker room: the click of studs on tiles, sweaty shirts discarded on the floor, rugby players laughing... He wanted to be with the Tigers. He really did. But the little voice in his head was too much. So out came the blade and the blood.

He hadn’t done it before. Somehow the need to act normal, like everything was fine, was stronger. But now, now he was allowed to hurt openly, that restriction had fallen away and he felt only relief when the first drops oozed from his arm. Maybe a small prick of shame, but relief and silenced nerves overpowered it.

“Good afternoon,” a nurse said, taking a seat next to his bed. She looked directly at his face, not the stark white bandages on his arms. She was probably trained how to do that, he thought. “My name’s Hope.” He couldn’t hold in a snort. “That’s how most people react,” she said in a confidential tone with a grin. George couldn’t help smiling back.

“We need to carry out a further assessment, so please follow me.” George obediently tracked her steps to a private room at the end of the ward. There was a desk, but she sat next to him instead of opposite.

“Now we’ve dealt with your injuries, I’d like to talk to you about what led you to that decision – to hurt yourself.” She looked at him steadily, soft brown eyes connecting with his grey ones.  
“I don’t know,” he mumbled, flexing his fingers uncomfortably.  
“Okay,” she said. “From my point of view, you’ve been through a lot recently. After the attempt at the end of July, you recovered well, even returning to work in the last few weeks. You were going to therapy twice a week, spending time with family and friends...” She paused. “Did anything specific happen?”

George considered the question, turning it over in his mind. Had anything happened? Creeping doubts about his place on the team aside, nothing had occurred that was particularly out of the ordinary. But then, that was the issue. His therapist had said that what he considered normal was actually very controlled and unusual – even unhealthy.

“I think – maybe I was going too fast, letting myself think nothing had happened – so I ended up thinking in the same way. How I wasn’t doing well enough, disappointing the team, embarrassing my parents. Except this time, I actually had a reason to think that.”

Hope caught his eye. “Thank you for telling me, George. Even if you are slipping into those old thought processes telling you that you’re not doing enough, I want you to know that you are. You are enough.” George was surprised to see tears in her eyes. “When you start getting frustrated about your recovery or other areas of your life, try reaching out to someone. I promise you, they see your situation very differently to you.”

He started to shake his head, and she coughed warningly. “Just carrying on can be a victory some days, so please don’t beat yourself up about it.” She wiped at her eyes and picked up a sheaf of papers from the desk. “Okay, that’s my pep talk done. We need to figure out another treatment plan for you – one that gives you more structure and support.”

George smiled weakly. More treatment was obviously good, and Hope had a gentle yet brisk manner which reminded him of his favourite primary school teachers. But it all seemed like a lot of effort, and for what? If he just tried hard enough, things would get better by themselves. They always had before...

Over the next half an hour, they went over the existing plan to identify what had gone wrong this time, and how it could be prevented next time. Hope was adamant that he needed more therapy, while George insisted he would cope by himself. She eventually won by playing the trump card – “You wouldn’t make someone you cared about cope by themself, would you? You’d give them help and support.”

Eventually, George conceded to Hope’s original plan of continuing with individual sessions twice a week, along with a new therapy group. He also had to talk to others if he was thinking about hurting himself again. “I’m still not sure,” George said uneasily, as she typed up the plan. “It seems like a lot of hassle.”

“Trust me, it’s not,” she said, looking at him over the top of the screen. “We do this job for a reason – because we want to help people.” She leaned back, settling her hands on the desk. “But if it would help to put it another way: it’s a job. We get paid to do this. So, in a weird way, you allowing yourself to get help is providing a livelihood for us. You help other people when you help yourself.”  
George picked at his bandages. “If you say so.”

She tapped a few more keys, and then stood up. “I need to pick this up from the printer, so if you would like to go back to your bed, I will be there in five minutes.” George followed her out of the room and sat on his bed.

It was strange, being confined to such a small area. Nobody had told him to go to his room for years, yet suddenly it was the default option. He could probably go for a walk if he asked, but not alone. It was bizarre. After feeling so isolated and lonely, he couldn’t be left by himself. Maybe it was mandated company, but it felt oddly nice to be monitored and even cared about so intensely.

***

Visiting hours had begun, and Ben followed the rest of the group into the ward somewhat reluctantly. He still wasn’t happy about being there. His phone call with Charlotte had persuaded him, however, that George might benefit from his presence – someone there as a representative of the team, as well as a friend.

“Hey, George,” Joe said, taking a seat next to the bed. “Um – I’m sorry this happened, and I hope I wasn’t part of your decision.”  
George shifted, arms hidden under the sheets. “You weren’t really, mate, don’t worry.”  
“But – is there anything you need? I can get you a toothbrush and stuff from your house if you want.”

Ben gritted his teeth. This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted to visit. Joe was only making the situation worse. Someone had to be there to support him, but Joe seemed to be more focused on the practical side than actually helping George emotionally. Sally-Anne had dissolved into tears again, with Jonny rubbing a hand up and down her back.

This circus couldn’t be helping George. Far from trying to show their support, the Fords were illustrating just how much damage George’s mental health issues were doing to the family.

Ben sat down on the other side of the bed from Joe and flashed him a warning smile. “How are you doing, mate?” he asked, clasping George’s shoulder.  
The flyhalf shrugged. “As you’d expect. Not exactly having a good time.” He let out a short laugh. “And wondering if I’m ever going to get back to normal.”

Ben pursed his mouth. “That’s horrible, Fordy. But you’ve got to remember: it’s not going to be a straight line back to where you were before. It’s going to have ups and downs.”  
The other man shook his head. “I know that. I know it won’t be easy, but most things are easy if you try hard enough. Now people are telling me I’m trying too hard and that’s just setting me back.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t really know what to do.”

Ben sat in silence, contemplating the dilemma. He had a point. From the age of about twelve, they’d all had it drilled into them that if you only threw enough willpower and effort at a problem, it would go away. And now George was learning that this seemingly fundamental truth was flawed.

“I’ll tell you what, mate,” he said, remembering his conversation with his wife, “how about you talk to Faz for a minute? He’s really fucked up about all this – and it’ll distract you a bit.”  
“Owen’s here?” George said, hope entering his voice for the first time.  
“No – but I can call him. He’s so worried about you,” Ben said, hitting the call button.

The phone rang for a few seconds, then the call connected. “Ben?” Owen’s voice came through the speakers, low quality not betraying the shakiness of his tone. “What’s going on?”  
“Everything’s fine,” Ben said soothingly. “I’m with George now. I can put him on if you want.” He handed over the phone, knowing what the answer would be.

George reached out a hand to take it, and Ben’s eyes were drawn to the snowy white dressings on his arm. He couldn’t tell if he was imagining it or if there really was a tinge of red there, as if the blood was seeping through. The blood took him to George, deliberately injuring himself, then George again, sprawled on the kitchen floor. His breaths were coming faster and faster, rushing through his body.

To calm himself down, he focused on the conversation between George and Owen. “I know I said this before,” Owen was saying roughly, “but you were unconscious, so I’ll say it again.” Ben closed his eyes, knowing what was coming. He didn’t want to see the raw emotion on George’s face when he heard the flyhalf’s words. “You’re my best friend. I care about you so much, and I hate that we have to be so far apart. But it’s not that far really. If you’re ever feeling low, you just call me and I’ll try to help. Communication is key,” he added, in something approaching an Australian accent. “I love you. You deserve everything. You’re so strong and you can get through this. I’ll help you if you’ll let me.”

He broke off. Ben could only hear sniffling from the bed. He looked up and saw Joe was crying too, holding on to his brother’s free hand tightly. “Okay,” George said hoarsely. “I’ll call you. As often as you can stand.”

Owen chuckled down the phone. “Every day? Like before the wedding – oh.” He paused. “That wasn’t part of it, right? Georgie understands – it would have been fine if you’d phoned, even when we were away.”  
George sighed. “I know. She’s great. It was me letting myself get in my head about it and then not having the courage to call you.”  
“Well, I’ll call you, then,” Owen said boldly. “You’re going to get sick of my voice soon enough.”  
“That could never happen,” George said softly.

The two players kept talking, and Ben caught Joe’s eye across the bed. “We’ve heard enough,” he whispered, tilting his head towards the door. He’d have to come back for his phone, but it was worth it to hear the warmth back in George’s voice after such a stressful few hours.

***

The therapy group took place in a conference room on the ground floor of the hospital. Even with the autumn chill in the air, the sun shining in through the windows gave the room a warm, calming glow.

George looked around. There was a circle of chairs in the centre of the room, with a long table down one side stacked with glasses and a jug of water. There was only one other person in there – a youngish woman typing busily on a laptop. He was ten minutes early, after all, so he decided to get a drink to fill the time.

He had just finished pouring a glass of water when he heard someone ask tentatively, “Would you mind doing one for me?”  
“Sure,” George said reflexively, turning and handing over a full cup. “No problem–”  
“I’m Robin,” the other patient said hastily. “I’m non-binary, and I use they/them pronouns.”

George blinked. “Oh, okay, right. I’m George.” He held out a hand to shake, and Robin took it. He tried to study them subtly. Long red hair – not even ginger, just red – caught up in a ponytail, a checked shirt and trainers. They were wearing clothes he might choose for himself, but then the hair…

“Please don’t look at me like that,” Robin said, fingers tightening around their glass. “I’m a person, not a category. And I’m not judging you, so you don’t get to do that to me.”  
George lifted his hands in a non-threatening gesture. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’ve just – never met a non-binary person before.”

Robin sighed and walked to the circle, sitting down. “That, I can understand. Most people wouldn’t know if they had. Anyway, I’m willing to forgive the first time.” George smiled uncertainly. He didn’t think Robin was someone he wanted to cross.

“So tell me about yourself, George,” Robin said, crossing their legs and leaning forwards.  
“Well,” he said, pulling his sleeves down over his hands, “I play rugby. I’m twenty-five. I have two brothers.”  
“Okay,” they replied. “Not bad. I’m thirty and I’m on sick leave from work at the moment.”

“Me too,” George said, eagerly leaping on this shared experience. “My job was really bad for my mental health for years, so I’m having a bit of a break.”  
“What do you do?” Robin asked, tilting their head. “I used to work in a library.”  
“I already said,” George said, a self-conscious blush growing on his cheeks. “I play rugby – for Leicester Tigers.”

Robin’s eyes widened. There was definitely some makeup going on there, George decided. Jess never looked like that in the mornings. “Wow. You’re like a celebrity round here.”  
George rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. The pressure and all that. Now I’m getting back into playing, but we’re not sure when.”  
Robin whistled softly. “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expecting to find a professional athlete in a group therapy session. That’s pretty awesome, that they’ll support you like that.”  
George smiled. “Yeah, they’re a good group of lads.”

The woman from before cleared her throat. The chairs around them had filled up with other patients as they had been talking, and the woman had brought out a whiteboard and a pack of marker pens. “Good morning, everyone,” she said brightly, clasping her hands together. “I’m so glad to see you all today. Now, seen as this is our first session together, would everyone please introduce themselves to the people they’re sat next to? We’ll do a group introduction in a minute, but just to start…” She paused to let everyone murmur their greetings. George was sat between Robin and a middle-aged man named Tony.

“Okay, thank you.” The woman resumed her speech. “I’d like to kick things off with a few questions. You can think about your answers for a few minutes, and then choose which one you would be comfortable sharing with the group.” She flipped the whiteboard over to reveal three questions. George scanned them. The one that leaped out to him most was: _What is your proudest achievement? Why?_

“Alright. Let’s go round and meet everyone, shall we? I’ll start,” the woman in charge said. “I’m Vanessa, and my favourite time of the day is picking my kids up from school because it reminds me that I’m part of a family and worthy of love.” She looked to her left, indicating that the patient should speak with a tilt of the head.

George followed the stream of names and statements around the circle until it reached his turn. “I’m George,” he said quietly. “My proudest achievement was winning IRB Junior Player of the Year when I was eighteen because it proved hard work can do anything.” Robin was about to speak when he jumped back in. “Oh, and I use he/him pronouns.” They nudged him with their elbow, and he turned to see a surprised but warm smile on their face.

“I’m Robin,” they said, “they/them pronouns, please. My favourite moment ever was when…” George zoned out, heart pounding in his chest. This was what taking a risk felt like; not staying in your lane forever, but breaking out, trying new things, meeting new people, learning, developing. He hadn’t felt that particular rush of adrenaline in years. He could already tell Robin was going to be good for him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably should have indicated before now, but this is the last chapter! There will be a (very short) epilogue uploaded next week, and then the marathon will be over. Thank you to everyone who has read, left kudos, and commented - I really appreciate it.

Over the next few weeks, Ben noticed a definite upswing in George’s mood. He wouldn’t just accept visits, he would actively seek out opportunities to go out and do things together, or play with Boris and Billie, or give pointers to the younger members of the team.

Best of all, it didn’t seem like there was much danger of him slipping back into old routines. George might do a few laps of the pitch before training, but it wasn’t an everyday occurrence. His boots were always clean, but not good-as-new like before. He could break his diet plan without too much of a struggle.

The only issue was – the autumn internationals were coming up fast, and almost all of George’s close friends were going to be sequestered in Pennyhill Park for most of November. Even with Owen’s daily calls, would the sudden disruption be a catalyst for backsliding? Ben could only hope it wouldn’t be.

“Evening, lads,” George said chirpily over FaceTime, one evening in England camp.  
Owen waved back. “You noticed Len and Jonny hiding behind me, then,” he said with a smirk.  
“Yeah, they’re not exactly – I was going to say small, but Ben is a bit of a midge,” George said with a smug grin.

“How’s things, anyway?” Owen asked, settling back into his chair. Ben and Jonny were sat on their respective beds; they knew just how long the two flyhalves could talk for.  
“Eh, pretty decent,” George replied. “Training was good, Mum went to the airport to fly to Germany to see Dad earlier… Got the house to myself for a few days.” Noticing their instantly nervous expressions, he tried to reassure them. “It’s fine, though. Robin’s staying over tomorrow night, so I’ll still have company.”

“Robin, hmm?” Owen said, raising his eyebrows. “That’s the first I’ve heard about her. Or him?”  
“Robin uses they/them pronouns, mate,” George said, a hint of a challenge in his words. “And it’s not the first you’ve heard about them – I told you about my friend from therapy. We went to see ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ at the cinema last week.”

Owen shrugged, not bothering to hide his grin. “You never told me a name, mate. But still – nice work. Got them over at your house already and everything.”  
George coughed. “Just because you’re married, doesn’t mean we all need to shack up ASAP.” He bit his lip. “I know I’m talking to the wrong group of people here, but I’m only twenty-five. There’s still time. Plus, I don’t think Robin even likes guys.”

“But do you like them?” Jonny asked, lifting his head from the duvet with a twinkle in his eye.  
George looked down. “I – I’m not sure,” he said. “This sounds so stupid, but… It’s been so long since I actually made a friend by myself. I don’t know if it’s just that or something more. I really like them.”

Ben shot a warning look at Jonny, seeing the mischievous expression on his face. “That’s great, Fordy. You don’t need to have all the answers – just enjoy the ride.”  
Owen nodded. “I agree. Robin sounds pretty special. Look after them, and let them look after you.”

George smiled shyly, covering his eyes with his hand. Then he looked up with a grin. “Oh, actually – I forgot to tell you. You’ll like this even more.” Owen straightened. “I’m starting contact again next week!”  
Ben and Jonny cheered, causing Owen to almost drop his phone. “That’s amazing!” Ben said.  
“Yeah, I’m really excited,” George said, eyes sparkling. “The team doctors put me on this new medication for my shoulder, so it hasn’t hurt at all for a few weeks. It’s looking good.”

Owen seemed the only one of them to have reservations about it. “But surely… If your shoulder’s hurt since that operation in 2014, a fortnight pain-free can’t be reason enough to go back to contact?”  
“I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t feel ready,” George reassured him. “I think it was more that the contact increased all the pain I had already, not me actually not wanting to do contact – if that makes sense? Anyway, I decided to do it yesterday – and you of all people know that makes it serious.”

Jonny pulled a face. “What does yesterday have to do with it? It was the sixth: what’s so special about that?”  
Owen smiled as it dawned on him. “It was Tuesday yesterday.” George grinned happily back at him. “Fordy here was so focused on everything that Monday was the only day he could make decisions. And yesterday was Tuesday.”

Frowning, Ben asked, “So that’s good?”  
“Yeah, mate,” George said. “It’s a big step – I’ve been doing that stupid Monday thing since I was seventeen, pretty much.”  
Ben relaxed. “Well then, congratulations. I know we haven’t got a timeline or anything, but – have you got any ideas about playing again?”  
George shrugged. “Geordan’s keen on sooner rather than later, obviously, but Joe’s had a go at him so he knows not to push it too much. Maybe Christmas? We’ve got that game at home against Quins just before.” He paused. “It’s a goal, but not a strict one. I’m not going to force myself.”

“And are you travelling to matches with the team now, or-” Ben caught himself, excitement quelled by a stern glare from Owen.  
“It’s okay, Faz,” George said with a grin. “I’m not sure.” He directed his answer to the scrumhalf. “Possibly next week, but I’ve got some midweek stuff to sort first so we’ll see how that pans out.”  
“We’re really pleased that you’re doing contact,” Jonny said earnestly, “if you couldn’t tell. It’s great that you’re recovering so well.”

“Thanks, you prat,” George said. “Now, Faz – don’t you have a meeting in a minute? I may have been out of camp for a while but I know how Eddie likes his schedule.”  
Owen swore. “Yeah, thanks, mate – I’m going to have to run,” he added to Ben and Jonny, “do you mind if I hang up?” The two Leicester players shook their heads quickly and Owen brought the phone up to his face. “Bye, buddy, I love you, see you soon,” he rushed out in a breath, picking up his things.  
“Love you too – next week!” George answered just as Owen ended the call.

“Next week?” Jonny asked Ben, bemused, as their captain thundered out the door. “They won’t have time to meet up next week, surely. We’re playing New Zealand on Saturday – Eddie won’t let anyone out of camp.”  
Ben shook his head. “Maybe he got his dates mixed up. Or Faz is using captain’s privileges, or something.” He affected a wise tone. “Ours is not to wonder, Jonny boy.”

***

George’s hands were shaking as he took his visitors’ pass out of his pocket and scanned it at the entrance to Pennyhill Park. The glass doors slid open and he breathed in, then out. He glanced at the bold red ‘VISITOR’ printed along the top of the card. There were no expectations, he reminded himself. He was just there to visit – to see the team. A social visit, nothing more.

He walked inside, remembering Eddie’s emailed instructions. He was to sign in at reception and then go to the head coach’s office. Once the afternoon’s gym session was over, Eddie would take him to the team. He duly introduced himself at the reception; the woman’s face registered a flicker of surprise, as though his presence wasn’t widely known.

He pasted a confident smile on his face, trying to disguise his nerves. Eventually, having checked that yes, Eddie had authorised his visit, she pointed him down the corridor and looked back to her screen. He hauled his rucksack up onto his shoulder and set off.

It was like he’d never been away. His feet walked him on autopilot to the door of Eddie’s office. He held up a hand to knock. Just a few months ago, this situation would have filled him with dread, but now he found himself almost excited. He knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Eddie called from inside. George pushed open the door, suddenly unsure of how to behave. Was he meant to grovel, apologising for messing up the coach’s plans? Was he meant to act like it had never happened? Eddie stood up and held out a hand. “It’s good to see you, mate – take a seat,” he said with a smile. George shook his hand, then sat down, tucking his bag neatly under the chair.

“How’re you going, George?” Eddie asked, pinning the flyhalf with his usual piercing gaze.  
George could tell that a bog-standard ‘fine’ wasn’t going to cut it with the Australian. “I’m a bit nervous to see everyone again, but overall I’m feeling better,” he said, scuffing at the floor with his trainers.  
“Yeah? Well, that’s good,” Eddie said. “I know the last few months haven’t been the easiest for you, but Geordan at Tigers tells me you started contact training again last week?”  
George nodded. “I enjoyed it. Not sure when I’ll be playing again, but it was fun.”

The coach looked at him seriously. “That’s the most important thing, Fordy. Don’t hesitate to tell me if you need a break, or a moment to yourself. I know what being in this environment can be like.” He grinned, and the gravity of the moment dissipated. “Now, does anyone on the team know that you’re here?”

George found himself suddenly appreciating the man’s scheming nature. “I told Faz last week that I’d see him next week, but he was running off to a meeting, so I don’t think he actually realised. So, no. It’ll be a surprise.”  
Eddie rubbed his hands together. “Excellent. I said at breakfast that we were having a visitor later, but I don’t think they’re expecting you. They probably think it’s some 2003 player again.”

“What are we going to do, then?” George asked, intrigued. “Do I just walk in?”  
Eddie chuckled. “Basically, yes. I’ll do my spiel about how you can learn from others and use them as role models for the future, and then you come in.”  
George frowned at his hands. “So you’ll lie to them, essentially?”

Eddie leaned forward. “I won’t be lying to them, Fordy. First of all, I wouldn’t lie to a team. Secondly, we can all learn from what you’ve been through recently.” He pressed on, aware of George’s incredulous expression. “Obviously, they need to know how important it is not to go over the top on rugby and have some moderation. But – more importantly, in my view – the players should recognise the need to have mental strength. If there’s one thing you’ve demonstrated in the last couple of months, mate, it’s strength.”

George bit his lip. “If you’re sure… I just don’t think it’s all that impressive. I got myself into the situation, and now I’m getting myself out of it. Any of the lads would have done the same.”  
Eddie looked hard at him. “I’m not sure they would have. But that’s beside the point. I’m presenting you as an example of courage which they could and should learn from.” He smiled, trying to ease the tension in the air. “As long as you’re comfortable, I’m going to go ahead with the plan. They’ll be glad to see you, even if they don’t appreciate the message.”

George shrugged. “I suppose so.”  
Eddie pushed himself out of his chair. “Okay then. I think they should have showered and changed by now – they’ve had long enough. Let’s go and wait outside.”

George lurked around a corner as the last of the players filed into the meeting room. He could picture the scene: all the boys gathered around the usual round tables, the Saracens clustered together, Exeter in another group. He wanted to see them all again – of course he did – but he wasn’t entirely sold on Eddie’s pretext. He wasn’t an example of bravery. He was an example of a fuck-up who failed to fix things off his own back.

Eddie had told him to wait until he opened the door to go in. He could hear the Australian’s words rising to a crescendo and he moved closer to the door. Then, all too soon, the door was yanked open. George stepped inside, trying not to redden with embarrassment. They all knew now. They’d known before, but now even more details were out there, to be spread and shared as rumours.

He looked up, nails digging into his palms. All he could see was a wash of white shirts, and then an indistinct shape barrelling towards him and grabbing him in a hug. “George,” he heard Owen say, low and fierce in his ear. “I missed you so much, mate.”  
He blindly brought his arms up around his best friend’s back and pulled him in tight, steadying himself. “Me too, Owen. Love you.”

***

Ben’s jaw dropped as Eddie opened the door and George walked in. The flyhalf’s flushed cheeks betrayed his nerves and he looked strangely diminished as he stood before the squad and the coaches. He just had time to think _someone needs to rescue him _when Owen stood up from next to him and practically rushed to George, gathering him up in his arms.

“Like bloody ‘Titanic’,” someone muttered fondly.

Ben brought his hands together in applause, soon joined by those around him. He looked at Jonny and grinned at the sight of the two flyhalves hugging in full view of God, Eddie, and the EPS. George might have felt isolated before, but he had no reason to now.

When they eventually separated – only by half an inch, hands still touching, as if the other man might disappear – Eddie stepped forward. George ducked his head, red now either from excitement or near-asphyxiation by his captain. “As you can see, this isn’t one of our usual guests,” Eddie said with a nod of acknowledgement to the tens. “I don’t think the normal Q&A format would be appropriate in this situation, so if you want to talk to Fordy, I’d recommend you do it in a more informal way.”

He scanned the room, making eye contact with every player. “I don’t need to remind you to be respectful. Use your own judgement as to which questions may be sensitive – and then don’t ask them, if you don’t want Faz after you.” Laughter rippled around the room and, tension defused, Eddie stepped back, indicating that George was fair game.

Jonny tipped his head towards the front. “You going to say hi?” he asked, drumming his fingers on the table.  
“I think I’ll let everyone have a turn first,” Ben said, a strange tension in his stomach. “I’ve seen him more recently than most of the lads. You go ahead, though,” he added as an afterthought.  
Jonny settled back down. “No, it’s okay. I can wait. You all right, though?”

Ben looked at the wall opposite, over the heads of the players. He was embarrassed that his behaviour was so obviously off that his friend noticed. It wasn’t fear churning inside him, but more a nagging worry that now George was recovering, he would have less need for Ben. He had all his other friends, gathered at the front of the room. He didn’t have a role to play in George’s life anymore.

He shook his head to dispel the gloomy thoughts. “I’m okay, thanks, Jon. Just a bit worried. He’s doing better, obviously, but everything’s sped up so much in the last few weeks. He wasn’t even doing contact two weeks ago, and now he’s talking about Christmas and he’s back in England camp. I’m not sure.”  
Jonny looked at him. “You’re not going to be left behind, mate,” he said, cutting to the heart of Ben’s anxieties. “He’s not so reliant on us now, but that’s good news. And we’ll always be tight, no matter what.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes until the crowd around George had thinned. Jonny clapped Ben on the shoulder and went over to the flyhalf. Ben clenched his fists and followed him. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us!” Jonny was saying with a wide grin. “Talking to Faz so much and you still didn’t let it slip.”

George laughed. “Trust me, you only know what I want you to know.” The group’s energy dissipated, and he looked around at his friends desperately. “I don’t mean it like that. It used to be bad, but I’m working on it, I promise.”

Ben stared at the floor. Robin probably knew everything George wasn’t telling them, he thought bitterly. Rugby didn’t hold the same sway over his friend anymore, so it was only logical that his rugby friends would lose his attention too.

“Ben,” George said directly, interrupting his mulish thoughts, “I don’t want to drift apart. But I’ve been texting, and inviting you over to my house, and you haven’t said anything. It takes two to maintain a friendship.”

Ben had had enough. “I suppose Robin knows all about that, don’t _they_?” he snarled. “And Faz too, for that matter. But little old me – I picked you up off the floor, I called the ambulance, and now you’ve moved on to bigger and better things.” He almost growled in frustration, ignoring the looks he was getting from the rest of the team. “It’s fine. I can take a hint.” With tears of righteous rage pricking at his eyes, he stormed out the door.

Anger fuelled his escape, walking without direction through the empty corridors. Hundreds of people working here, he thought, and they’re probably all looking at Eddie’s star guest. He came to a dead end and slammed his fist against the wall. He was perfectly justified in his behaviour. He was right. Someone was going to come after him and tell him how he’d voiced the hidden opinion of the squad; he was the one who would take the fall for criticising George’s behaviour openly.

And wasn’t he the one who had been there all along? George was unconscious in a bed while Ben ran interference between Mike and everyone else, coordinated visitors, consoled family members. Really, George should have stood in front of the team and thanked Ben for saving his life. It was only right.

He slumped against the wall, sliding down into a sitting position. All the adrenaline had drained from his body, the confrontation long over. Not that it could be described as such: George had stood there while Ben yelled at him. For the first time, a glimmer of shame sparked in his gut. This was George’s first time back in the place which gave him so much anxiety, facing some of his closest friends and rivals with his secret out in the open.

The spark established itself, coaxing out a small flame of remorse. His therapist’s voice resounded in his head: _When you’re angry, take a look at yourself. It might not be all about the other person. _He shuddered, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. Was he actually angry about George having better friends? Or was he worried about not being a good friend himself?

He covered his face with his hands. He had to apologise. Maybe this was a fraction of how George had felt, utterly humiliated and terrified of looking anyone in the eye again. The flyhalf wasn’t technically part of the squad, but Eddie was always clear on where the boundaries lay with regards to behaviour. Shouting at someone about their suicide attempt was absolutely over a number of lines. What if the coaches sent him home? He’d have to tell Charlotte, and George would probably tell Joe, so all the Tigers would know when he got back. He itched to get his hands on his journal. Anything to help him get out of this situation.

Slowly, painfully, he got to his feet. Clearly nobody was looking for him; this was one long walk he’d have to make alone. As he retraced his steps, he attempted to arrange his thoughts. Apologising, that was step one. Emoting was a good second stage. It was working out a solution to his emotions which was the hardest part. That, and facing the inevitable horde of players around George. Even if they weren’t there, Owen absolutely would be.

He rounded the corner into the lobby. He swallowed and looked up, braced for thirty judgemental glares. He blinked. Unless he was hallucinating – if only he was – George was sat alone by a small table, calmly drinking from a water bottle. “Can I sit down?” Ben asked shakily. George nodded and slowly screwed on the lid. His face didn’t betray his emotions; the faintest hint of red around his eyes suggested his true feelings.

“I’m really sorry,” Ben said, forcing himself to maintain eye contact. “What I said was out of order, and I regretted it straight away.” George looked at him levelly but didn’t speak. “Um… You know I didn’t mean it, right?” No response. “Okay, so there was some truth behind it, but I didn’t mean to phrase it like that.”

“What is the truth, then?” George said, voice cracking.  
Ben bit his lip, trying to sort his thoughts into a coherent statement. “That I’m jealous of the effort which you put into your friendships with Faz and Robin. Some part of me – the worst, ugliest, darkest part – thinks you should spend more time with me, because you owe me.” He continued hastily, registering George’s frown. “I know you were trying to reach out. I just couldn’t see it like that – it was pity, from my point of view.”

“What do you know about pity?” George burst out. “Don’t you think I’ve seen that on the faces of every single person I’ve met for weeks? They try to hide it, but it’s so, so obvious.” He closed his eyes, struggling to regain his earlier control.

“I appreciate what this looks like from your perspective. I’ve got a shiny new friend who can relate to my experiences, and you’re jealous. But Robin – you don’t know the half of it.” He fixed Ben with a steely gaze. “Oh, and if you’re going to try and use their gender as a weapon in an argument again? I will actually be angry then, don’t doubt it.”

The scrumhalf’s stomach dropped. “I swear I didn’t mean it…”  
“It doesn’t matter if you meant it or not. You still said it.” George sighed, tugging on his hair. “Look, I’m willing to look past this – for now. We need to have a proper talk, but this is not the time or the place. I just want to have a nice evening with my friends. You think about this, I’ll think about this, and we’ll sit down for a chat when you get back to Leicester. Fair?”  
“More than,” Ben said fervently. “Thanks for not going to the coaches, mate.”

“Just because I didn’t doesn’t mean that I stopped anyone else voicing their opinions,” George replied, jaw tight. He breathed out in an effort to expel the tension from his body. “Right. That’s enough for now. I’m going to see Sladey. You can come if you want.”

Ben smiled uncertainly. “It’s okay. I need some alone time – to write.”  
George shrugged, not returning the smile. “Alright. I’ll see you at dinner.” The flyhalf walked away.

Ben groaned internally, wishing he could punch himself in the face. Even with his good intentions, he’d managed to screw up again. George seemed to be in a forgiving mood, and he could only hope that it would last until he returned to Leicester in a few weeks.

***

George rapped at Henry’s door, trying to regulate his breathing. The conversation with Ben had upset him more than he’d let on. First, the rejection of his help, then the admittal of his friend’s jealousy. If only he could see there was nothing to be jealous of. If Ben wanted to trade his stable family life for empty, restless nights, George would make the switch in a heartbeat.

Henry opened the door with a smile. “Hey, Fordy – come in.” He gestured back into the room. George returned the smile and sat on the unused bed, back against the wall. “How’re you doing?”  
George waited for the Exeter player to settle on the other bed before he answered. “Overall, I’m doing well. Back to contact, not rushing anything, and trying my hardest not to get controlling again. But earlier? That sucked.”

Henry hummed in agreement. “Yeah. I’ll admit, we were all a bit shocked by it. Ben’s normally so – together, and then he completely went off on you.”  
George fiddled with his shoelaces. “I knew he’d been having a rough time recently and I was trying to help but it wasn’t working. So it wasn’t entirely unexpected. I just wish it hadn’t happened in front of everyone.”

“Did you have your chat with him?” Henry asked, expression warm and open. “I thought about talking to him, but it wasn’t my place then. Maybe tomorrow, if that’s alright with you?”  
“That’d be fine. He should have cooled down by then. But yeah – we talked. He said he thinks I should owe him a debt of gratitude, or some shit like that. I get what he means, but I’m not going grovelling to him because of it. And I told him to cut the transphobia, or I would show him where to shove it.”

He sighed and rested his hands behind his head. “I understand that he’s struggling at the moment, and it’s probably hypocritical to say this, but he needs to communicate. We can’t talk through his issues with me if he doesn’t tell me about them.”

Henry opened his mouth to speak when there was a knock at the door. He got up to answer it. “It’ll be Faz,” he said in answer to George’s questioning look. “He asked a few of us where you’d be later so he could see you. Evening, captain,” he said to Owen. The Saracen nodded at him and made a beeline to George, sitting down next to him and curling a possessive arm around his shoulders.

“Thanks for this, Henry,” he said, resting his head on George’s. “I appreciate it.”  
“Eh, it’s fine,” the other man replied with a grin, “anything to facilitate the Ford-Farrell partnership. Eddie would be so proud of me.”  
George pulled a face. “Not everything’s about rugby, mate. I’d just like to spend some time with two of my closest friends.” Owen made a pleased noise in the back of his throat and snuggled in closer.

“I do have one question, Faz,” Henry said nervously. “Have you ever met Robin? Because that might make Ben feel more left out, you and Fordy meeting up with the new friend.”  
Owen looked at the ceiling, speaking slowly. “We’ve never met in person, but they’ve been there during our calls a few times. It’s definitely not what he’s imagining. Yes, I’d like to meet my best friend’s other best friend. No, I’m not doing it to exclude Ben, for whatever reason he’s made up for himself.”

“That sounds fair,” Henry said. “How’s Georgie getting on? It’s only a few months left, isn’t it?” Owen started to answer, and George tuned it out. He’d heard every last detail about the pregnancy about three times, so his input wasn’t exactly necessary.

He gave himself permission to enjoy the warmth in the room: his friends talking, the comforting pressure of Owen’s arms, and the knowledge that he could have this any time he wanted – he only needed to ask.

By the end of the autumn internationals and the end of November, George felt almost back into his routine, like nothing had ever happened. He was training fully with the team, travelling to matches, and participating in post-game reviews. He just wasn’t playing, as though he was suffering from a nasty head knock and being careful about it.

But then again, he wasn’t back in his routine at all. For years, his days had been regulated down to the minute, his diet sticking perfectly to the trainers’ requirements, and his body treated as a machine. Now the surface schedule looked the same, but underneath it was utterly different. He could make spontaneous decisions about exercise, training – even which radio station to listen to. Nothing was back to normal, and for that he was grateful.

However, his looming conversation with Ben really needed tackling. The England players had been back with their clubs for a few days and the mandatory rest period was coming to an end. The scrumhalf would be present in training imminently and George needed to get a grip. They hadn’t spoken for a fortnight; the team couldn’t cope with them being awkward in training on top of all their other woes.

He carefully tapped out a message on his phone. _Do you want to get coffee tomorrow afternoon? We should talk. _He quickly sent it and turned the phone face down on the table. He didn’t need the anxiety of waiting for Ben’s reply. He got up and walked over to the window. The trees were bare and the landscape was a dreary grey, save for a few sprays of holly berries and clumps of evergreens dotted around the fields. It was as cold as that evening in July, but he refused to feel it.

His phone buzzed and he leapt to grab it. _Sure_, Ben had typed. _Usual place? _George fired back an affirmative. For some reason, his hands were shaking. He’d imagined how this conversation would go countless times over the last fortnight, and now it was finally happening. Everyone from his therapist to his mother had weighed in with their opinions, but he knew it had to come from him or Ben would just recoil again. He took a deep breath. It was only coffee. It was only Ben.

The next day, it didn’t feel like only Ben, one of his oldest teammates. He sat at a table in the window of their usual café, taking small sips of his hot chocolate to fill the time waiting. He caught sight of Ben hurrying up the street, head bowed against the wind, and he got up to order his friend’s coffee.

***

When the scrumhalf entered the shop, George was sat reading the newspaper with two steaming cups in front of him, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world. What a role reversal, Ben reflected with a pang of bitterness. Now George had the upper hand and he was the one urgently trying to make amends.

“I got you a coffee,” George said with a small smile, pushing the cup towards him. Ben took it, not sure how to reply. “I thought we should talk face to face, so we don’t misinterpret each other,” George added as if reading Ben’s thoughts. “You deserve a proper explanation.”  
Ben took a gulp of coffee and set down the mug. “Okay.”

“What I got from that… encounter a few weeks ago, was that you’re worried about us growing apart as friends.”  
Ben nodded, gripping his cup. “More or less. Add a side of a severely misplaced god complex, and you’re about there.”  
One corner of George’s mouth quirked up. “From my perspective, I’ve stayed in contact as much as you let me, but you started to not reply. That’s when I thought that you didn’t want to talk to me – maybe I was making your nightmares worse, or something. So I didn’t text as often. But now I see that made it worse for you.”

Ben chewed on his lip. “How did you know I’ve been having nightmares?”  
“Tom told me,” George said awkwardly. “I didn’t ask, I promise. I just wanted to see if there was anything else going on, or if I should stop messaging. He said you weren’t sleeping well because you were thinking about that night so much, so I thought it was better to let it tail off a bit.”

“That’s fair,” Ben allowed. “I do think that made it worse for me, but then I can see why you did it. It was just…” He drank some more coffee. “Everyone thanked me so much for being there that night but you. It really started to niggle at me and I let it fester instead of actually talking about it.”  
George grimaced. “Yeah – because I wasn’t happy about it at the time. Those first few weeks, I would have given anything not to have sent that second text. But now I am grateful. So thank you, mate.” Ben ducked away from the open honesty in his eyes.

“What about Faz and Robin, though?” the scrumhalf asked in a small voice. “Faz at least felt the same kind of suffering as I did. He tried to keep it in like me, so how come you kept talking to him?”  
George sighed and dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “I didn’t in the beginning. But after I was in hospital the second time, we realised that it helped both of us to chat more often. And Robin – it was easy to be honest with them just because of where we met. I reckon having a friendship grounded in rugby doesn’t make it simple to talk openly.”

Ben looked down at his half-empty cup. George’s explanations all made sense. The only anger he had left was now directed at himself; for not seeing the signs, for reading the situation wrong, for making stupid assumptions. “Where do we go from here?” he said softly. “I still want to be friends.”

George leaned forward and touched his wrist. “Me too, Lenny. Of course. I think we just need to set some expectations, so something like this doesn’t happen again.” Ben nodded. “Like, we see each other nearly every day at the club, so daily phone calls like I have with Owen aren’t really necessary. But I’d like to keep up with you more in the offseason and outside of work, if that’s something you’d want.”

Ben nodded again, more enthusiastically. “Absolutely, yes. And, like – emotional honesty is something I really need to work on, so if you could have the patience to cope with that… I’d appreciate it.”  
“Alright. That I can do. Let’s just say – no more guilt, and a lot more communication. Sounds good?”  
Ben grinned at his friend. “Sounds great.”

With the dreaded post-mortem of his outburst over, Ben found himself more able to relax into the rhythms of rugby, settled into his game like he hadn’t been in months. The team’s results were up and down, but he, Jonny, and George lived vicariously through Owen’s lengthy descriptions of Saracens’ wins and their life at the top of the table. Charlotte had instituted dinners on Monday nights for what the couple privately termed the ‘George support group’: Ben, Charlotte, Connie, Joe, Jonny, and George. It was an unlikely combination, but they made it work with the addition of several young children and their dogs.

“Can you read through something for me later, mate?” George asked after one such meal. He was lingering in the kitchen while Ben loaded the dishwasher and Charlotte said goodbye to the other guests.  
“Sure – what is it?” he asked, stacking the last few plates and turning around. “Anything exciting?” George shrugged. His face was taut with a stress Ben hadn’t seen for what felt like an age. “Do you want to sit down and talk about it, mate?” Ben said, concerned.  
“Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind,” the flyhalf said quietly, moving to the kitchen table.

“What’s up?” Ben asked, sitting down opposite his friend. “Remember house rules – this doesn’t go anywhere unless you say so.”  
George mustered a weak smile. “Thanks, Lenny. No, it’s nothing big. I’m just being dramatic.”  
“Care to elaborate?” the older man said, twisting his hands together.

“Well, I always said I’d try and get back to playing by Christmas, and it’s only a couple of weeks away now. Geordan says he’s comfortable with putting me in the squad in January, or even the game before.”  
“That’s great!” Ben said. He could tell George wasn’t too excited at the prospect. “So – what’s the issue?”  
George sighed. “When I play again, there is no way that the media aren’t going to interview me and ask loads of personal questions. Even if PR bans it, it’s going to happen at some point.” He scrunched up his face. “I don’t want to have to talk about it, so the only option is a press release. Like the first one, but with actual details.”

“And you’re not comfortable with that,” Ben said, realisation dawning.  
George ran a hand through his hair, shifting in his seat. “It’s not exactly that: I’ve written a few paragraphs and managed to say the basics without going too in depth. I just don’t know how…” He sighed loudly. “I don’t want to make a thing of it. But I also want to get it out of the way.”

“If it were me,” Ben said, steepling his fingers, “I would combine the two statements. Throw the vultures a few specifics, but then emphasise it’s still sensitive and you want your privacy respected.”  
“I suppose so. I mean, PR are going to go over it anyway. I think I’m just making a fuss over nothing again.”

Ben reached out and squeezed George’s shoulder. “No, mate. It’s normal that you’re feeling like this. You’ve avoided attention and focused on recovery – which was the right thing to do,” he added, “but now the spotlight’s going to be back on you.” George leaned into the touch. “Say what you’re okay with saying, and don’t give them anything else. It’s your life, not the public’s.”

When Charlotte came in, the two men were huddled over Ben’s laptop, mouthing through the statement. “What’s this?” she asked, smiling.  
“George’s press release,” Ben said with an answering smile. “We’re making sure it hits all the right notes.”  
“It’s not going out for a while yet,” George clarified, biting at his nails, “but I wanted to be prepared.”

She smiled at her husband and her friend. “That’s good. Don’t get too hung up on it, though. At end of the day, it’s just some words on a page. People will take from it what they want and you can’t control that.”  
George didn’t seem placated by her words. “I know. It’s bad, but I still want to keep it close. I can just appear out of nowhere in the new year and act like nothing ever happened, and then everyone will forget about it.”

She frowned. “That’s fine. There are a lot of people you could help by talking about this, though. Obviously not to excess, but sweeping it under the rug could make the attention worse.”  
Ben shot her a look. “It’s up to George. And the PR team, but mainly George. It’s his life and his story to tell.”  
“Thanks, mate,” George said, knocking their shoulders together. “It’ll be fine, though. It’ll work out.”

***

All his shaky confidence had deserted him by the time of the press release, however. It was 30 December, a Sunday evening, and he was sat with Owen and Georgie in their living room. Leicester had lost to Bath at the Rec, but George had already arranged to be picked up by Owen at the services closest to his house, so he had no qualms about leaving the team to their woes.

George couldn’t stop jittering, checking the clock and his phone every half minute and sending ripples through his cup of tea. Ron took his head off George’s knee and padded over to his bed to sleep instead, which made him feel worse.

“It’s in a few minutes, isn’t it?” Georgie asked from where she was stretched out on the couch. George nodded, jaw tense. “It’ll be okay,” she said soothingly. “All the people who really matter know already and have done for ages. It shouldn’t change anything important.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling him for ages, but he won’t listen,” Owen said with a wry grin, coming in with a tray of snacks for his wife. He sat down and pulled her legs on to his lap with a satisfied sigh. “Such a worrywart, our Fordy.”  
George smiled, nervous energy still thrumming through his body. “I don’t even know what I’m thinking anymore. I just want it to be done.”

“Come over here,” Georgie said, tipping her head to the other side of her husband. “Owen’ll give you a cuddle, try to settle the nerves.” George looked at her in confusion, but she nodded at him with a reassuring smile. “I don’t mind. The two of you are making me stressed and that’s bad for the baby.”

Owen mock-frowned at the other man. “And we can’t have that, mate. Come here.” George made his way over to the couch, perching next to Owen. He wasn’t sure what to do with his limbs. They had both agreed to it, but they were still married. Georgie was pregnant, for heaven’s sake! He couldn’t just start snuggling with her husband in front of her.

“Stop thinking so hard,” Owen said easily, pulling him in to his side. “Do you want to turn your phone off?”  
“Probably best,” George said, wriggling around to get it out of his pocket. He carefully tossed it onto the empty armchair, where he wouldn’t be able to get at it without disobeying the explicit orders of his best friend’s wife. (When did this become his life, he wondered.)

Just two minutes left. The hands of the clock ticked inexorably closer to the moment of reckoning. God, he could just picture what the _Mail _would do with this. He tucked his face into Owen’s shoulder, letting out a low groan. “Why did I decide to do this?” he murmured. “I should have just retired and become your live-in babysitter.”

He heard Georgie snort. “No, thank you. I’m sure you’d be excellent at it, but you’d miss rugby too much.” She paused. “Or at least you would have done. I think you might be able to cope now.” George felt a little bit better at her praise.

“Aww,” Owen cooed, rubbing both their arms. “My two Georgies getting on so well. The baby will be so lucky with you two as role models.”  
“Any more thoughts on names?” George asked, trying to avoid thinking about the happy bubbling in his stomach at the epithet.  
“Andrew as a middle name if it’s a boy,” Georgie said promptly. “Something traditional for the first name. Owen keeps suggesting Thomas, which isn’t bad. I like Louise for a girl.”

George looked at Owen, brow furrowed. “Why Thomas? I thought you’d go for a family name like the rest of your clan.”  
The older man flushed. “I mean… It is a family name. I can’t live in a house with two people with the same name.”  
George felt the penny drop and he turned a deep crimson to match Owen. “Shit, mate,” he breathed. “You’d really name your kid – after me?”

“I was going to ask properly first,” Owen said defensively, avoiding his gaze. “But yeah. It seemed right.”  
George hid his gathering tears in Owen’s shirt. “Thank you so much, mate. I’m honoured. It means everything.” He turned to Georgie with a slight grin. “And thanks, G, for putting up with our ridiculousness.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” she said, eyes bright. “It’s amazing. You two are so close.” She laughed wetly. “Anyway, it might turn out to be a girl, and then nothing’ll come of it.”  
George shrugged. “It’s the thought that counts.”

As he settled into a new position, his eyes caught on the clock over the mantelpiece. It was five past the hour. The piece would have been published on the website and tweeted to the Tigers account. His heart rate picked up. Tens of thousands of people would have seen it by now. They would know the reason for his mysterious absence from the club. His breathing quickened. Maybe one of the major news outlets would have picked it up. Maybe-

“Take a deep breath,” Owen murmured in his ear. “It’s okay. We’ve got you. Just breathe. Remember, we can’t freak out because the baby will be sad.” Distantly, George heard Georgie laugh and then she was leaning forward and rubbing his knee slowly. “You’re okay. It’s okay to be worried, but it’s not okay to panic.”

George focused in on his friend’s slow, measured voice. He tried to sync his breathing with the rise and fall of Owen’s chest and gradually his heart rate returned to normal. The nerves were still curled in his stomach, though. “Do you want me to look?” Georgie said softly. “I can see what’s happening and give you an update, without you having to face it right now?” George nodded wordlessly. She got out her phone and started browsing.

“Just going off the replies to the tweet,” she said, scrolling through Twitter, “the vast majority of people are supportive. Quite a few of your team have replied to it, Keegan Hirst – ooh! Nigel Owens says he’s proud of you.”  
George squirmed in Owen’s grip. “That’s a bit weird. I mean, nice, but shouldn’t he be keeping a distance because he’s a ref?”  
Owen squeezed him with a huff. “Just take the compliment, mate. He’s a good guy, and he’s been there himself.”

“It’s had thirty thousand likes already,” Georgie said casually. “England retweeted it a minute ago, so loads more people are going to see it now.”  
George nodded. “Okay. Thanks.” He nestled in closer to his best friend. “Can we talk about something else now? I’ll check my phone tomorrow morning at breakfast.”

“Of course,” Georgie said with a soft smile. “It won’t help to obsess over it; it might not even have that much of an impact in the long run.” She clicked her tongue at Owen. “Put the TV on, dear husband. There’s probably a decent film on.” She grinned at George as Owen dragged himself up to find the remote. “Don’t tell him,” she stage-whispered, “but I’m definitely making him do more than I need to. He’s such a captain sometimes.”

“What’s that you’re saying about me?” Owen asked, wandering back in with the remote in his hand. “Only good things, I hope.”  
George and Georgie said in unison, with matching grins, “Yes, dear.”  
Owen rolled his eyes. “Letting you two meet was a mistake. All we need now is to get Robin in on this and it’ll be like the three witches from ‘Macbeth’.”  
George snickered. “You love us really.”

The evening passed with the same comfortable banter, the three of them squished onto the same couch. When Georgie finally declared it was time for bed and made her way upstairs, Owen caught George by the wrist. “You did a brave thing today,” he said earnestly. “I’m so proud of you. It’ll help you and all the other people hurting in the same way – and you can have a fresh start in 2019.”  
George hugged him quickly. “I hope so, mate. I’ll see you in the morning.” Owen gave a mock salute and followed his wife to their bedroom.

George picked up his overnight bag and prepared to follow them when, overcome by curiosity, he went back into the living room and turned on his phone. He would just have a quick look. Just to see who had texted him. Only for a few minutes. He unlocked the phone and quickly turned off notifications so he could sort through the messages uninterrupted.

He scanned through the predictable texts from his teammates, both Leicester and England; his parents had sent a photo of a litter of puppies their neighbour’s dog had given birth to recently; and Jacob texted a string of heart emojis. One particular message caught his eye. _From: Geordan Murphy_, it said. He blinked once, then again. Why would Geordan be texting him? And, more to the point, when had he ever received his head coach’s phone number? He clicked to open it, perplexed.

_Well done today, Fordy, _the message read. _Given Matt and Joe’s recent form, the coaching staff are happy to name you in the squad for the weekend. Please reply if you are ready. _

George clutched his phone to his chest, suddenly brimming with excitement. This was it – life clicking back into place, erasing the past few months just in time for the new year. He jogged up the stairs, bag bouncing behind him, and knocked on Owen and Georgie’s bedroom door. “Come in, mate,” Owen called.

George pushed open the door, nervousness creeping in at bursting into their bedroom like this. Owen was already in bed, shirtless, while Georgie was brushing her hair in the mirror. “What’s up, mate?” Owen asked, tone surprisingly even.  
“Geordan texted me – I’m in the twenty-three for the Gloucester match on Saturday!” George grinned, watching a matching expression spread across his best friend’s face.  
“That’s awesome, Fordy,” Owen said, getting out of bed and giving him a tight hug. “The only way is up, and all that.”

George nuzzled into his neck briefly, then stepped back. “Yeah. Sorry about butting in; I was really excited.”  
Georgie turned to smile at him. “It’s fine, George. That’s what friends are for.”  
He nodded in pleased acknowledgement and walked towards the door, still beaming. “I’ll see you in the morning – and I promise I won’t look any more!”

George’s excitement only increased in the days leading up to the match. It would be his first game in six months, since the South Africa tour. Technically, the stakes were lower – a Premiership match between two midtable teams – but, personally, there was a lot riding on it for George.

Even with all the supportive messages he’d received on social media, it felt like the fans were waiting to see if he could still play. If he delivered for their team, then fine: the wait would be justified. But if he didn’t – if he fell apart and dragged the other players down with him – then the backlash would be as bad as he’d feared.

Running out for warmups, George looked around the imposing stands of Welford Road. It was his home stadium and had been for nearly a decade, but he’d never stopped to contemplate the place much before. The fans were already three deep around the pitch, more than an hour before the game was scheduled to begin, and their massed shouts were encouraging rather than hostile. With the murmurs of the crowd following him, he headed to the team huddle.

“We know it’s a big one today, boys, and especially for Fordy,” Tom was saying, punctuating each word with a pump of his fist. “Let’s get going in the warmup, and then the forwards need to go – well, forwards. Give the backs something to work with. We can take them,” he rounded off, with a nod to Geordan. The squad split off to carry out their usual personal stretches and exercises. George was doing lunges on the five-metre line when he spotted a flash of bright red hair in the crowd.

He walked over, trying to keep it casual. “Robin!” he called, ignoring the intrigued looks of both the players and the fans. “Robin, I’m here!” His friend looked round and George breathed a sigh of relief.  
“Hey, buddy,” Robin said, stretching their arms over the barrier to give George a hug. “How’s it going?”  
George shrugged with a small grin. “I’m excited. Nervous, but mostly excited. What are you doing here, anyway? You said you’d never watched rugby.”

Robin raised their eyebrows. “You didn’t think Owen was going to let you get away with playing your first match in ages without one of us cheering you on? He bought me a ticket – said it was a late Christmas present.”  
George bit his lip, grinning wider now. “That’s – that’s great. Thank you.” He stopped, frowning. “Will you actually know what’s going on?”  
They waved a hand airily. “I’ll pick it up. It’s not rocket science – you hit each other and somehow points are scored. Go on, you need to warm up. Kick a ball or something.” George nodded obediently and jogged back, a broad smile on his face.

“You feeling good?” Ben said as they walked back to the changing room for final preparations.  
George hummed. The butterflies in his stomach were intensifying beyond the usual for a game, but he was resisting his previous habits; his socks were left deliberately on the floor and he’d only tightened his studs twice. “On balance, I’m okay, mate,” he said. “Kind of terrified, but I’m up for it.”  
“It’s rugby, mate,” Ben grinned, bumping their shoulders together. “Trust me, you’ll get back into it so quickly – especially with how you’ve been training.”

George could only hope his friend was right. Standing on the halfway line, spinning the ball reflexively in his hands, he had a sudden urge to hand it over to Ben and bolt for the locker room. “Ready?” Wayne Barnes said, jolting him from his rising panic. George nodded automatically and the referee blew the whistle to start the game.

The flyhalf raised his arm to the left and kicked the ball, acting on autopilot. Thank God for all those hours of practice – they may not have helped his mental health, but they saved him in that moment. He dropped back to let the defensive line form ahead of him, taking a few steadying breaths. Job one, done.

After three minutes, a penalty was called for infringement at the scrum. George considered it for a moment, looked at a nodding Tom, and signalled to the posts. The noise of the crowd dipped for an anxious second before redoubling. Again, George went back to his routines. Place the ball, three steps back, one to the side. Slight bend of the knees, a few short steps, plant the foot, arm up, follow through. His foot on the ball made a solid thwacking sound and he instantly knew the kick was good. The crowd roared, and the game was on.

Leicester scored through Jonny, with George adding two penalties and a conversion to end the half 13-6. “Looking good out there, Fordy,” Tom puffed as they ran in at half time. “Like you’ve never been away.” George was inclined to agree.

The game management was broadly the same – the coaches had introduced a few new calls since the season started, but he’d caught up on that in training. It was more in his ability to read the game that he saw the real difference. Before, he would scan the pitch and blindly conjure up plans; a pass here, a chip through there… Now the process seemed slower, clearer. He didn’t have to rush.

He slowly drank from his water bottle, feeling the sweat cooling on his neck. The murmur of twenty thousand people above them in the stands was audible even over the various coaches’ voices. The feeling of pressure restricting his lungs was long gone too. He could perform now, show them what he could do, without the expectations. He was the IRB Junior Player of the Year no more. He was just George Ford, and that was just fine.

The second half opened with two tries for the Tigers and one for Gloucester within the first fifteen minutes. George slotted his conversions, keeping the scoreboard ticking over. He knew Leicester’s recent record was abysmal – four losses in five games. If he could turn it around, prove that he still had value to this team – it would be the best comeback he could ask for.

Then, not ten minutes later, Jonny went on another scything, jinking run up the pitch. George tracked him, heart pounding. The ball went out to one wing, then back across to the right. The ball ended up in his hands. Everything slowed down. Somehow, Gloucester had ended up with a mismatch. He stepped out to the right, and the prop followed, bending to make the tackle. Waiting a split second longer to ensure the forward was committed, he pushed back the other way and through the gap. He looked to each side. The space was clear. The defenders were behind him, and he was away.

The roar of the crowd suddenly broke through his concentration as he touched the ball down. He punched it into the crowd with a triumphant yell, turning to the rest of the team as they jumped on him. The shouting mass of bodies didn’t subside for what felt like minutes. “Alright, lads,” he yelled over the cacophony, “I need to take the conversion.” The rest of the team obediently left him and ambled back to their half to set for the restart.

George began his routine, carefully placing the tee on the grass. He couldn’t stop grinning, but it didn’t matter. From right in front of the posts, the kick sailed through. He let out a whoop of sheer delight. 34-16 to the Tigers with fifteen minutes left to play. They were going to win. He was going to do it. As the clock ran down, the only sound he could hear was the baying of the home fans, cheering their team home.

Barnes blew the whistle after what felt like an eternity. George dropped to his knees, hiding his face from the cameras. They won. He scored. After everything, rugby was still there to welcome him home. As if to emphasise it, Ben crouched down next to him and gave him a long, tight hug. “I’m so, so proud of you,” he whispered, ignoring the hovering TV cameras. “You played so well. You’re so strong.”

George looped an arm around his friend and stood up. He wasn’t man of the match – no interview for him, thankfully – so all he had to do was shake hands with the other players and the referees before heading in for a shower.

Having carried out his obligations, he trudged towards the changing rooms. If there was one thing he hadn’t missed about rugby, it was the inevitable aches and pains. His right knee was twinging as he walked and his arm ached where somebody had trodden on it. But the adrenaline was still singing through his veins, so he could barely feel the pain.

“George!” he heard someone yell. “George!” He kept walking. It was nice that the fans wanted to talk to him, but he wasn’t ready to put on his media face yet. “George!” the voice continued. “It’s Robin!” He looked up. Sure enough, his friend was stood by the tunnel, waving their arms energetically. His face creased into a smile and he hastened over to them.

“Hi,” George said, suddenly conscious of the mud and blood staining his kit and his skin.  
“You looked like you had fun out there,” Robin said, looking him up and down. “It’s nice to see you in your context, you know? I can see why you love it so much.”  
George grinned at them. “Yeah. For a while I wasn’t so sure, but I know now that this is the right place for me. Always has been, always will be.”

Their face betrayed their concern. “Okay – just remember to stay aware. Nobody wants you slipping back, yeah?” George nodded, some of the joy draining out of him as reality bit. “Anyway…” Robin held up their phone. “Will you take a selfie with your biggest fan? I know Owen would love to see how you’re doing – Georgie says his game will be done in a few minutes.”

George smiled sarcastically and took the phone. “Anything for the fans.” They took a few photos and he handed it back. “Um, I was just wondering, since you’re here… Would you like to meet Ben? I know you haven’t had the best impression of him, but I’d like you two to get to know each other.”

Robin looked at him seriously. “I know this is important to you, George. As long as he doesn’t get transphobic again, I’ll be nice.”  
George impulsively threw his arms around their neck. “Thanks so much, mate. If you just wait by the entrance to the bar, we’ll be there in about twenty minutes – if that’s okay?”  
“That’s fine,” Robin said. “Now, go be with your boys,” they added with a laugh and a gentle push.

George ran to the locker room, vibrating with happiness. Match won, try scored, two of his closest friends about to meet? It was a good day. He entered the room to a sudden wall of sound and he almost staggered backwards. “Congratulations, Fordy,” Geordan said once the din had subsided. “That was an excellent performance, especially under the circumstances. Well played.” George ducked his head under the praise and walked over to his locker as the head coach continued his debrief.

“Fancy meeting Robin in a bit?” he asked Ben in a low voice as Geordan rambled on. “They came to watch, so it’s sort of neutral ground.”  
Ben looked at him with wide eyes. “Really? I thought they didn’t like me after that – the thing in the autumn.”  
George squeezed his knee comfortingly. “Robin of all people knows that people change and grow over time. I told them you were sorry and you’ve been learning more about that kind of stuff. They wouldn’t have agreed if they didn’t want to see you.”  
Ben shrugged, hiding a pleased smile. “Alright then. Good match, by the way.”

They showered quickly and George led his friend up to the bar, nerves rolling around his stomach yet again. The bar had emptied out somewhat since the game ended, so it was quiet enough for a conversation. The flyhalf noticed Robin sat at one of the tables and hurried across the room. “Hello again,” he said as they stood to hug him. “Uh – this is Ben. Ben, this is Robin. You’ve heard a lot about them.” He stepped back, watching nervously. It was like introducing two hostile animals and hoping that they would reconcile their differences for the good of the pack. (Or something like that. George was always more into the humanities than the sciences.)

“Hello,” Ben said stiffly, holding out a hand.  
“Hi,” Robin replied, mirroring his cold tone. “Well played – I think.” George sighed. He had hoped that the pair would be adult enough to see past their differences, if only for his sake. The buzzing energy flooding through his limbs was dissipating rapidly.

“Thanks,” Ben said with a hint of a smile. “If there’s one thing we can agree on, it’s that Fordy here played a blinder.”  
One corner of Robin’s mouth tilted ever-so-slightly upwards. “Yes. Even I could tell that.” From there, the conversation tripped and stumbled into a polite, but not awkward discussion about the match and Robin’s sporting experience. The claws were slowly retracting, and George saw they were both trying to get along. Only time would tell if they would ever move beyond casual acquaintances, however.

George’s phone buzzed and he stepped away from the stilted conversation with relief. “Hello?” he answered.  
“George – it’s me,” Owen said. “I just saw your match report. That was incredible! The way you turned the team around, 100% kicking, even scoring a try… I’d be happy with that any day of the week, but after what you’ve been through – I’m so proud.”  
George blushed at the fondness in his voice. “Thanks, mate,” he said softly. “It felt good.” He laughed. “Better than the conversation I’m currently watching.”

“What’s that?” Owen asked.  
“Robin came to watch the game, so I took the opportunity to introduce them to Ben. I don’t think either of them have completely forgiven the other, so it’s a bit like pulling teeth.”  
“Wow,” Owen said, amusement colouring his tone, “you could be a diplomat, facilitating that reconciliation.”

George grinned. “Let’s just say – it’s pretty obvious they haven’t met before and they haven’t got much in common. I don’t envy them at all.”  
“And you shouldn’t,” Owen said warmly. “What you did this afternoon – and what you’ve been doing since summer – was so impressive. I’m so happy to be your friend and to be able to have this conversation with you.”

George covered his face. “Right back at you,” he said thickly. “Love you, mate, but I think I’m going to have to rescue this conversation if I want either of them to talk to me again.”  
“Alright,” Owen replied. “You started it so you have to deal with the consequences. Anyway – I love you. Talk to you later.”

Owen hung up, and George was left with a feeling of utter calm and contentment. For the first time in months, he didn’t feel like he was chasing after something, pursuing an unattainable goal. He was back where he belonged, in the near-empty bar at Welford Road. Maybe his friends weren’t all close geographically, but they were the closest they’d ever been. No, it wasn’t like he was lost anymore. It was like he’d found his way back home.

[@leicestertigers: The lads went coast to coast before Fordy dived over for our bonus point try in the win over Gloucester at Welford Road! 👏](https://www.instagram.com/p/BsWMEpLhGLt/)


	5. Epilogue

Seven months passed. Tommy Farrell was born in early March, his proud parents spamming his namesake’s phone with photos and videos.

A few weeks later, George scored his first international try in a year to clinch the draw against Scotland in the Six Nations. The team had got themselves into an unfortunate situation but had fought their way out – there was a certain symbolism in him scoring the game-tying try on his birthday, George reflected.

Then Leicester dipped worryingly close to the relegation zone, flirting with the drop for several agonising weeks before they pulled themselves back from the brink. It wasn’t just him that could see the symmetry: after he won the Tigers’ Player of the Year Award, the club published a gushing review of his season, full of quotations from other players and his family.

George found all the attention a bit unnecessary, but Ben pushed him to accept the praise and the plaudits. He even went as far as to print the article, installing it on a frame in pride of place on George’s living room wall. It was awkward to look at, but sometimes the warmth it gave him overcame the discomfort.

But no amount of positive coverage or rugby success could reassure him when he woke up in camp on the anniversary of the attempt. It was still early, though the temperature was already in the high teens. He looked out of his window. Mist was rising over the Italian training pitches, and he shivered.

The day proceeded almost as usual. Eddie worked the team hard in their gym and outdoor sessions, then led an hour of video review. George could feel the presence of his friends around him in their reassuring touches and whispers throughout the day. Even at lunch, they crowded in to sit at a table with him.

His parents and Joe called after dinner, wrapping him up in a blanket of loving words and gentle support. As soon as he put the phone down, the cold seemed to envelop him, draining away any positivity that he had gathered around himself during the daytime, dissipating like a heat haze in the desert. The earlier mist which had appeared soft and welcoming was now menacing, raising blurred memories of that night one year earlier. Despondency settled around him like a shroud.

Just as he was reaching for his phone, a desperate effort to reach out to someone, anyone, there was a knock at the door. He pulled it open, not caring who it was. “Hey,” Owen said softly, holding out his arms. “I wanted to check in on you.” George sank into the hug, sniffling. “Do you want to come back to mine?” Barely having to consider the question, the younger man nodded into his best friend’s chest. “Okay, mate. Let me just grab your keycard and we’ll get going.”

Once they were safely inside, Owen flicked on all the lights. He sat down on the bed opposite George, taking his hands. “You don’t have to say yes, but I thought it might be nice if we watched a film? You know, to distract you.” He smiled. “Eddie agreed, so we’re allowed popcorn too if you want.”

George nodded silently, and Owen tossed him the remote. “I’ve hooked up my Netflix to the TV, so you can pick whatever you fancy.” He dug through his suitcase to find the snacks while George scrolled aimlessly, eventually picking a generic action film. He couldn’t care less about the content, as long as it took his attention from the growing darkness in his mind.

“Looks good,” Owen said, opening the bags and handing one to George. “Come and cuddle, mate.” He patted the bed next to him where he was sat under the duvet.  
“Georgie-” George started uncertainly.  
“-suggested this,” Owen said firmly, “so get in. We all want you to be happy, especially today. Ben and Jonny will be coming by at some point too, if that’s alright?”

George nodded, tucking his head into Owen’s shoulder. “Thanks, mate. It means a lot. I – yeah. Today was always going to be tough, but you guys definitely made it easier.” Owen squeezed him close and started the film. George nestled into the warmth of the bed and their friendship, suddenly more hopeful. This was so much better than last year.

Forget the row of pills, the chilling breeze, and the empty picture frames. He hadn’t felt so warm in years. Warm, safe, loved – home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much to everyone who’s read, left kudos, and commented. It means a lot :)


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